#red isle decks

[edmontondecking]

Premier Composite Decks in Leduc | Red Isle Decks

At Red Isle Decks, you will find a team of skilled and experienced builders, ready to help you design and achieve your custom outdoor space. Red Isle specializes in composite decks, and is not only the largest Trex Deck contractor in the Edmonton and Leduc area, but also one of the largest in Canada. All of our work and products meet the stringent AB and BC building code requirements. 

[whovian223]

Friday Night Shots - Catch Up Mechanisms

Friday Night Shots - Catch Up Mechanisms

It’s the last Friday before Christmas and all through the malls, too many creatures were stirring, so much so that I would rather carve Shem Phillips’ initials into my hand with a penknife than go shopping. I think that’s how that old Christmas poem goes. I could be a bit off. Anyway, welcome back to the bar! I’m glad you decided to get cozy and warm here, having some libations (maybe not…

[writers-potion]

The Pirate's Glossary

Ahoy - an interjection used to hail a ship or a person, or to attract attention.

Arr! - an exclamation

Avast! - a command meaning stop or desist

Aye (or ay) - yes; an affirmation

Becalmed - the state of a sailing vessel which cannot move due to a lack of wind

Belay - (1) to secure or make dast by winding on a cleat or pin (2) to stop, most often used as a command

Bilged on her anchor - a ship holed or pierced by its own anchor

Bilmey! - an exclamation of surprise, short for "God blind me!"

Blow the man down - to kill someone

Boom about - when a ship turns in the wind the boom can swing violently enough to injure or kill a person on board. "Boom about" may be shouted to warn others the boom is about to move.

Bring a spring upon her cable - to come around in a different direction, oftentimes as a surprise maneuver.

Careen - to take a ship into shallower waters or out of the water altogether and remove barnacles and pests such as mollusks, shells and plant growth from the bottom.

Chase - a ship being pursued, or the act of pursuing a ship.

Code of conduct - a set of rules which govern pirates behavior on a vessel.

Come about - to bring the ship full way around in the wind. Used in general while sailing into the wind, but also used to indicate a swing back into the enemy in combat.

Crack Jenny's teacup - to spend the night in a house of ill repute.

Crimp - to procure (sailors or soldiers) by trickery or coercion, or one who crimps.

Dance the Hempen jig - to hang

Davy Jones' locker - a fictional place at the bottom of the ocean. In short, a term meaning death.

Dead men tell no tales - standard pirate excuse for leaving no survivors.

Deadlights - (1) strong shutters or plates fastened over a ship's porthole or cabin window in stormy weather. (2) Thick windows set in a ship's side or deck. (3) eyes.

Fire in the hole - a warning issued before a cannon is fired.

Furl - to roll up and secure, especially a ship’s sail.

Give no quarter - the refusal to spare lives of an opponent. Pirates raise a red flag to threaten no quarter will be given.

Handsomely - quickly or carefully; in a shipshape style.

Haul wind - to direct a ship into the wind.

Heave down - to turn a vessel on its side for cleaning.

Heave - an interjection meaning to come to a halt.

Ho - used to express surprise or joy, to attract attention to something sighted, or to urge onward.

Letter of marque - a document given to a sailor (privateer) giving him amnesty from piracy laws as long as the ships plunders are of an enemy nation.

List - to lean to one side

Long clothes - a style of clothing best suited to land. A pirate, or any sailor, doesn't have the luxury of wearing anything loose that might get in the way while climbing up riggings.

Marooned - to be stranded, particularly on a desert isle.

Me - My

No prey, no pay - a common pirate law meaning a crew received no wages, but rather shared whatever loot was taken.

Overhaul - (1) to slacken a line (2) to gain upon in a chase; to overtake

Parely - a conference or discussion between opposing sides during a dispute, especially when attempting a truce, originating from the French, "parler," meaning "to speak." The term was used in "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl" as part of Pirate law.

Piracy - robbery committed at sea.

Quarter - derived from the idea of "shelter", quarter is given when mercy is offered by pirates. Quarter is often the prize given to an honorable loser in a pirate fight.

Reef sails - to shorten the sails by partially tying them up, either to slow the ship or to keep a strong wind from putting too much strain on the masts.

Run a shot across the bow - a command to fire a warning shot.

Sail ho! - an exclamation meaning another ship is in view. The sail, of course, is the first part of a ship visible over the horizon.

Scupper that! - an expression of anger or derision meaning "Throw that overboard!"

Sea legs - The ability to adjust one's balance to the motion of a ship, especially in rough seas. After walking on a ship for long periods of time, sailors became accustomed to the rocking of the ship in the water. Early in a voyage a sailor was said to be lacking his "sea legs" when the ship motion was still foreign to him. After a cruise, a sailor would often have trouble regaining his "land legs" and would swagger on land.

Shiver me timbers! - An expression of surprise or strong emotion. In stormy weather and rough seas, the support timbers of a ship would "shiver" which might startle the crew. The phrase may have been less common during the Golden Age of Piracy than it had become later in fictional works.

Show a leg! - A phrase used to wake up a sleeping pirate.

Sink me! - An expression of surprise. Many pirate exclamations used exaggerated imagery to highten a point. Ye might say the sailors were punchy or a bit melodramatic after a lengthy stay at sea.  

Smartly - quickly

Take a caulk - To take a nap. On the deck of a ship, between planks, was a thick caulk of black tar and rope to keep water from between decks. This term came about either because sailors who slept on deck ended up with black lines across their backs or simply because sailors laying down on deck were as horizontal as the caulk of the deck itself.

To go on account - A pleasant term used by pirates to describe the act of turning pirate. The basic idea was that a pirate was more "free lance" and thus was, more or less, going into business for himself.

Warp - To move (a vessel) by hauling on a line that is fastened to or around a piling, anchor, or pier.

Weigh anchor - To haul the anchor up; more generally, to leave port.

Ye - you

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

Reference:

https://www.pirateglossary.com/

[descendantofthesparrow]

could i ask for some sort of Harry Hook x reader where she overworks herself and faints? if not thats okay! thanks

here you go! i actually really had fun with this and wrote it within two hours :D

Request-takes place during ‘Rise of the isle of the lost’

=

The waves of the isle shore crashed against the dock, making for an almost pleasant background noise as the crew of the lost Revenge worked tirelessly to get it in working order for its voyage to the isle of the doomed.

Repairing the hull, plugging holes, fixing sails, gathering rope, swabbing the deck-every crew member was hands on deck as they raced around to get it ready in time; which had to be within the day, before anyone else could have a chance to get the trident that rested at the bottom of the bay.

“Raise those sails, make sure tha’t anchor is connected, don’t ye dare let that sludge get on the deck!” Harry ordered the crew, his brow furrowed as he paced the deck-Uma was in the chip shop, unable to command her new crew, though she was far less knowledgeable about being a pirate captain, so Harry-the appointed first mate-was the best man for the job to make sure everything was in top shape.

He was already covered in sludge, a tar-like substance that acted like waterproof superglue-he’d already worked to plug holes and replace some of the hull’s boards but now he needed the crew to finish up the ship before the end of the day.

He turned as he heard a slight struggle from the gangway, seeing (y/n) Smee, one of his oldest friends-even older than Uma-carrying a shit ton of rope for the sails. Harry frowned, seeing how red in the face she was and how exhausted she looked. He looked at his pocket watch, and while he couldn’t exactly tell time-he knew the lass had been working for probably seven hours straight.

“Smee,” Harry barked out, beelining it to her, putting his hands on her back and shoulders as she continued to tug the huge ropes onto the ship. (y/n) panted, tilting her head to look up at him, sweat dripping down her brow as she breathed heavily, almost heaving.

“Harry,” she panted out and Harry frowned, taking the rope from her hands and easily slinging the heavy ropes over his shoulder. “I was doing that,” (y/n) huffed and Harry just ignored her, tossing the ropes by the main mast where they needed to be.

“ye need ta’ take a break,” Harry demanded, grabbing (y/n)’s wrist and beginning to drag her off the ship towards the chip shop.

“I’m-fine-“ (y/n) said, pulling her wrist out of his hand with more force than necessary, and she suddenly felt dizzy and swayed. “-Harry-“ she managed to say before the feeling of fainting took over and her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she fell backward, hitting the railing of the gangplank and she went overboard.

Harry instantly reacted, not wasting a second as he dove over the rails and into the water after (y/n). “Man overboard!” Bonnie yelled and Gonzo raced to the ladder hanging off the port side of the ship and unlatched it, the ladder unraveling and landing in the water for Harry to climb back up on.

Harry grabbed (y/n)’s unconscious form and tugged her close, pushing off a jagged rock next to him and swimming back up to the murky surface, shaking the water off his face as he broke the surface and swam to the ladder with (y/n) in his arms, still unconscious.

“she okay?” Drey asked as Harry climbed up the latter with one hand, (y/n) limp against his side.

“she will be, she fainted from overworkin’ ‘erself.” Harry said, handing (y/n) to Gil as he reached the top and climbed onto the deck. He shook his head again and took (y/n) back from Gil. “all of ye, take a break, before someone else faints.” He ordered and stormed off the ship to the chip shop.

-

(y/n) woke up less than 20 minutes later, blinking awake to the feeling of a cold cloth on her head and lying down on Uma’s bed in Uma’s room that was above the chip shop. She groaned a bit, feeling like she had a wicked headache, and sat up; the wet cloth falling to her lap as she rubbed her face.

“There ye are,” she looked to her left, seeing Harry entering the room with a cup of water, handing it to her. “what did I say ‘bout overworkin’ yer’self?” Harry asked, sitting at her feet, and giving her a stern look. (y/n) huffed, drinking the water.

“I didn’t want to seem lazy,” she muttered and Harry rolled his eyes, leaning over to flick her forehead and she yelped, flinching her eyes closed. “hey!”

“Yer not lazy, yer not useless, just because you can't keep up physically as the rest of the crew don’t mean yer any less useful, ye just have different uses. Besides, ye helped enough in tha’ morning, and I had told ye ta help Uma in the chip shop instead.” Harry said, flicking her forehead again and she smacked his hand away, making him smirk.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” (y/n) muttered and Harry rolled his eyes, no shit. He instead scooped her up and carried her back down to the chip shop, (y/n) hitting his back on the way down. “put me down! Harrison James hook!”

Harry just snickered and dropped her in one of the chairs at the long table near the kitchen, grabbing a tray and dropping in front of her. “eat, take a break, stay ‘ere with Uma, I’ll be back when the ships done.” Harry ordered, pointing his hook at her as he swaggered out the chip shop.

(y/n) huffed, pouting a bit as some of the patrons chuckled and then turned back to their meals as Uma came out from the kitchen with a mean glare to silence them. “When has not listenin’ to him ever turned out well for you?” Uma snorted as she passed by (y/n), leaving a seaweed smoothie as she did. (y/n) just rolled her eyes, grumpily taking her break.

-end-

[dovesdreaming]

The magic between us

Summary: Carlos de vil unexpectedly meets you on your arrival from wonderland. Your card tricks (and yourself) pique his interest.

Request

Masterlist

Carlos de Vil had seen many strange things in his life. Growing up on the Isle of the Lost, surrounded by villainous magic, he’d come to expect the unexpected. But meeting someone from Wonderland? That was a whole new level of strange. The day you arrived at Auradon Prep was one of the rare calm days for Carlos. Mal and Evie were off on some mission, Jay was tangled up in sports, and Carlos found himself tinkering with one of his many inventions on the lawn near the library. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, making it feel like just another peaceful day. Then you appeared.

A portal, shimmering with vibrant colors and swirls of patterns, materialized out of thin air. Carlos straightened up, his invention forgotten as he watched in wide-eyed fascination. Out of the portal, you stumbled, looking disoriented but unbothered. You had a deck of cards clutched in your hand, your outfit a riot of colors that matched the Wonderland aesthetic, and a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. “Who-what-uh…” Carlos stammered, standing up and trying to make sense of the situation. “Who are you?” You smiled, a little wicked and a lot of wonder. “I’m from Wonderland” you said simply, like it explained everything. “The name’s Y/N”.

Carlos blinked, still trying to process. “Like..Wonderland Wonderland?” You chuckled, twirling a card between your fingers. “Is there any other?” As if to prove your point, you flicked the card towards the ground, and as soon as it touched the earth, it exploded into a burst of colorful fireworks. Red, green, and gold sparks showered into the air, crackling in a way that made Carlos grin despite himself. “That’s… that’s pretty cool” he admitted, his curiosity piqued. You shrugged. “It’s just a little something I can do. Wonderland magic, you know? Cards are kind of my thing. Like these”.

You threw down another card, this time a Queen of Hearts, and instantly a life-sized card soldier appeared, fully armored and at attention. The soldier snapped to attention and saluted both you and Carlos, stiff and formal. Carlos took a cautious step closer, eyes wide with awe. “You can summon soldiers from your cards?” “Mmmhmm”you hummed, flipping through the deck. “Each card does something different. Some summon creatures, some create illusions, and some” you threw down a ten of clubs, and suddenly the air was filled with glowing, dancing lights, “are just for fun”. Carlos’s mind raced. As a natural inventor, he was always looking for ways to improve his gadgets and skills. Your magic, your Wonderland ability, was something he couldn’t even begin to comprehend, but the idea of it? It fascinated him.

“Could you teach me?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. You tilted your head, studying him. “Teach you? To use Wonderland magic? You’re not from Wonderland, though”. “I know, I know. But you can’t just show me something that cool and expect me not to want to learn. Besides” Carlos’s grin turned playful, “I’m pretty smart. I can figure things out”. You considered him for a moment, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Alright, Carlos de Vil, I’ll teach you. But on one condition”. “Name it”. “You help me find my way around Auradon Prep” you said, looking around at the grand castle-like school. “This place is huge, and I’m still not entirely sure why I’m here. The Queen of Hearts said it was ‘to learn’ but I’m not exactly a straight-A student”. Carlos chuckled. “Deal. I’ll give you the grand tour. And in exchange, you show me how to make fireworks with cards”.

Over the next few weeks, Carlos became your unofficial guide to Auradon, and in return, you taught him the basics of Wonderland magic. You showed him how to manipulate the cards, how to channel their energy into tangible creations. It didn’t take long for Carlos to get the hang of it, he had a natural knack for figuring out patterns and codes, and Wonderland magic, though strange, followed its own set of rules. The two of you became inseparable. Where Carlos went, you were there, flipping cards or summoning soldiers to help carry books or cause minor chaos in the halls. It wasn’t long before Mal, Evie, and Jay took notice.

“What’s up with you and the Wonderland kid?” Jay teased one day after practice. “You two are always together”. Carlos rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile on his face. “It’s not like that. We’re just..learning from each other. They’re teaching me magic”. Evie raised an eyebrow. “Magic? Carlos, you hate magic”. “Not Wonderland magic” he corrected, thinking of the way your face lit up when you pulled off a particularly tricky spell. “Wonderland magic is different. It’s... fun”. Mal leaned in, smirking. “Uh-huh. Sure. It’s the magic that’s fun, not the person teaching it”. Carlos felt his cheeks flush. “Shut up”.

One evening, as the sun set and the sky was painted in hues of pink and orange, you and Carlos found yourselves sitting by the edge of the lake, cards scattered between you. “I never thought I’d be friends with a de Vil” you said, tossing a card in the air and catching it effortlessly. “Let alone one who doesn’t act like a villain”. Carlos smiled softly. “I guess we’re both full of surprises”. You glanced at him, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. “Yeah, like how you’re actually getting pretty good at this” You nodded towards the cards in his hand.

Carlos had been practicing. He flicked a card onto the ground, a simple two of hearts, and immediately a small burst of red sparks flew up. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “Not bad, huh?” he said proudly. You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Not bad at all. You’ve come a long way, Carlos”.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars began to twinkle in the sky, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you had found something, someone, worth staying in Auradon for. And Carlos, for the first time in his life, felt like he had found a kind of magic he actually wanted to hold onto. And maybe-just maybe-it wasn’t entirely the cards that made his heart race.

-

Thank you for reading!

[the-golden-comet]

✨⛵️Story/WIP Tour Tag ⛵️✨

Oh, what a fun concept! Thank you for tagging me, @theink-stainedfolk !!

I’m not sure I can convince you about the lovely landmarks in Peter Hart , but— there’s a rope around me. Oh. We don’t have a choice in this adventure, do we?

Peter: Clever. You catch on quick~!

Ahoy, mates. Captain Hart at the helm now. I’ll be your tour guide for the voyage. Please keep your arms on the deck at all times. Do not lean on the railing; if you go overboard we’re not coming to fish you out….unless you’re Benjamin.

Benjamin: HEY!! 😡

Right, let’s get started:

✨🇬🇧Port Mayor🇬🇧✨

On your left, you will notice we are passing by Port Mayor, Great Britain. A lovely fishing port run by an absolute bastard of a person. Make sure on your stop you steal a hearty handful from the Royal’s pockets, and try their regional specialty: Port Plum Pudding. Great for the season.

🌋Isle of Talon Rock🌋

Oh, this one’s a lovely sightseeing adventure! Talon Rock is an inactive volcano in the center of thick jungle. Do watch your feet for snakes; they are quite venomous here. The igneous walls of the lava tubes are home to a variety of rich gems, but make sure you vacate before high tide if you don’t want to get your clothes wet.

✨🇬🇧Portsmouth🇬🇧✨

We arrive at another port. Excellent tailor at this location; this is where I picked out most of Benjamin’s fashion.

Benjamin: I didn’t ASK for—

—You’re welcome. If you get a chance, make sure to piss in the rose garden of the sovereign that governs this port.

✨🪨Echoing Cove🪨✨

This one looks deceptive at first glance, but a trove of valuables rests deep enough inside the many underwater cave systems. You’ll have to do a little spelunking, but if you reach deep enough the treasures are ripe for the taking~

Benjamin: Peter…why do I hear voices?

—AAAAAAAND we are getting the fuck out of here~🏴‍☠️✨

✨🇬🇧Port Florence🇬🇧✨

Aye, Florence. Another posh port with a castle loaded in riches. A very prosperous port town with a king that is all too eager to throw lavish parties and get drunk off of centuries aged wine.

Benjamin: You’re one to talk, captain…

They hold a Regal Ball every year, with a dance competition. The winners take home 50 grand. Ah, a great memory indeed~

Benji: (blushing furiously)

😏

☠️🩸Bloodwater Bay🩸☠️

….Oh shite. This place. Right, well…..some more dense jungle, a thin strip of beach, the waters are red, but don’t be too alarmed…Davey tells us that’s the iron deposits that give more of that rusty hue. There’s a tall waterfall in the center……

Benjamin: …..Peter? Peeeeeeeter?

O-Oh! Well, moving right along…don’t want to linger in this wretched bay….

✨🇮🇪Gregory’s Point🇮🇪✨

Another lovely island between the mainland and Ireland. This is a developed hotspot, turned into a small port town where all are welcome. Pirates, naval officers, merchants, the like. Between the two main countries, this place has its own governance. So, you better have a good reputation if you don’t want to be murdered in your sleep ✨

Benjamin: you say that so nonchalantly, Captain

Mmmmhm. Also home to one of the best doctors this side of the equator. So, if you get wounded, make sure it happens close to Gregory’s Point.

✨🐋Giverny Gulch🐋✨

Another island made of basalt, home to a naval shipwreck. Do watch your step for broken glass, sharp rocks, reanimated corpses—

Benjamin: —I beg your pardon?

—fish and shark carcasses….oh right. Lots of sharks. Be careful of those.

Benjamin: ….Do I hear a whale?

✨🇫🇷Lorraine🇫🇷✨

We’re arriving near France! Jacques: lead us in the singing of the French National Anthem

Jacques: Oui, oui, Capitaine~! ✨

✨🎵 Allons enfant de la patrie,

Le jour de gloire est arrivé! 🎵✨

Benjamin: 😑

✨🎵….Contre nous de la tyrannie,

L'étendard sanglant est levé

L'étendard sanglant est levé

Entendez-vous dans les campagnes

Mugir ces féroces soldats?

Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras

Égorger vos fils et vos compagnes!

Aux armes, citoyens! (Formez)

Vos bataillons!

Marchons! Oui, marchons!

Qu'un sang impur

Abreuve nos sillons! 🎵✨

🏔️Arctic Archipelago🏔️

……

Benjamin: …..Peter?

…..Let’s be off…..I wish not to be here too long.

✨🏝️The Caribbean🏝️✨

Ah, much better~! A nice, warm climate. Benji, love, remind me to acquire a bottle of Ron de Barbados 🇧🇧✨

Benjamin: Trust me, Captain; you won’t forget.

We’ve reached our final stop, but we have a whole tied-up tour group of witnesses. Mmmm…Right, I got it! Men, start hauling them over the rail—

Benjamin: —PETER!!

I’m joooooking~. Start untying them and drop ‘em off at the next port. Thank you for….“choosing”….The Golden Phoenix as your cruise. I’ve been your captain, and have a magnificent stay in Barbados. Jones knows I will~

Benjamin: P-PETER!! 😣

Leaving this open because man I had a lot of fun here ✨

✨👇Tag list for writing snippets below DM me if you want to be added 👇✨

Tag List for writing tidbits (lmk if you want + or -)

@clevah-girlboss , @glasshouses-and-stones , @tragedycoded , @deanwax , @honeybewrites , @drchenquill , @paeliae-occasionally , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @katenewmanwrites , @fantasy-things-and-such , @billybatsonmylove , @madi-konrad , @houseplantblank , @far-cry-from-finality , @froggy-pposto , @fractured-shield , @avaseofpeonies , @topazadine , @thecoolerlucky , @willtheweaver , @somethingclevermahogony , @noxxytocin , @addicted2coke-theothercoke , @ominous-feychild , @yourpenpaldee , @moltenwrites , @pixies-love-envy , @davycoquette , @writeahurricane , @nczaversnick , @greenfinchwriter , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @aintgonnatakethis , @pluppsauthor , @michellekarnold , @flurrysahin , @authorcoledipalo , @jadeglas , @spookyceph , @48lexr , @agirlandherquill , @saebasanart , @leatafandom , @pippinoftheshire , @badscientist , @dearunreliablenarrator , @worlds-tallest-fairy , @rhikasa , @swordslord

[cinnamontakesthemetro]

Martyn is definitely too proud to admit that he froze when he caught sight of fiery red hair.

Or when piercing green eyes looked right through him.

Or when he heard a sharp comment that wasn't even directed at him.

To his defense (of nothing, because he didn't freeze), he had never encountered Cleo in a world like this before. One that isn't life-or-deathgame related, that is to say.

When they walked into the tavern of the Faction Isles, he briefly thought she had figured out inter-world travel just to kill him. Which, sue him, is a very real threat actually.

Lucky for him, Cleo didn't seem to recognize him at all. In fact, from what he gathered, they had been at the Isles for years. So nothing the matter. It made sense that there were more Cleo's out there, of course. He has met plenty of his friends in different worlds. This is nothing out of the ordinary. Just a Cleo, not his vengeful soulmate, who doesn't recognize him. At all.

All is well, Martyn can put all his attention on his mission and not think about Cleo anymore.

-•-

Later, when Martyn's alone on his ship, laying on the deck and looking at the stars, he allows himself to think about it.

This Cleo doesn't know, doesn't remember their complicated history. When they look at him, they don't see their failed soulmate. She isn't worn down by memories, and he can pretend like he's just a normal prick. It's painfully easy to poke and jab at each other. To pretend they don't like each other but just as quickly turn it around on an unsuspecting third party, working together like they share a mind.

Maybe this is what it would have been like, if they had been proper soulmates. Or somewhat like it, at least. He still doesn't know what it's like to be on the receiving end of her undying loyalty.

This is probably as close as he'll ever get.

-•-

"You're a coward, Martyn."

Being magically frozen in place has nothing on the way Cleo's words hit him.

"You always have been a coward and you always will be a coward."

He thought he did everything right this time. Or, well, at least concerning her. And even if, it doesn't make sense. There's no history with this Cleo, there's no reason-- this isn't--

This can't be his Cleo.

They didn't recognize him. No snarky comments about abandonment. No jokes about his terrible math. Nothing to suggest any connection. She even complimented his looks.

It can't be.

And yet. Coward. She looks straight at him.

He swears he can feel a string tug at his heart.

But the world moves on. The pirates are shouting and moving and preparing for a fight and Martyn, Martyn has a mission to complete here. He has no time for thinking or for silly feelings. He needs to go. Right now.

So he reminds himself to breathe and takes off in the chaos of the battle that erupted while he pulled himself together.

-•-

Just before he steps through the portal, Martyn hesitates. If they are his Cleo...

Will they ever forgive him for leaving again?

[deityoftherain]

cuddle hideaway - Zombiewood LimL-Setting Fanfic

This can be read as platonic, queerplatonic, or romantic, I just don't know their duo name so I'm marking it with "zombiewood" :D

Rating: General Audiences

Relationship: Other

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 1,275

Summary: Tired of playing single mother of two to Bdubs and Scar, Cleo trekked across the map to visit their soulmate, Martyn, on the Coral Isles.

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

Knock, knock, knock!

The quick pattern sounded against the door to the Coral Isles, announcing Cleo’s presence before they ever even used their voice. “Martyn?” Martyn raised a brow at the call, curious as to what Cleo (or, perhaps, The Clockers in general) needed. Considering the “walls” weren’t actually walls at all– pushing through bamboo and sugar cane was annoying, but not impossible– the door was useless in keeping people out. Most just went around it, but here Cleo was, waiting patiently.

Who knows how long that patience would last?

“Yeah? What’s up?” Martyn inquired, exiting the chest room to go around the building and approach the zombie hybrid. “If you’re looking for Scott, he’s not here.”

“I’m actually here for you,” Cleo corrected as Martyn opened the door and took her appearance in.

Her curly, fiery red hair was partly held back with a pink headband, though some of her bangs still spilled over onto her forehead. The band was situated around her head like his own black one was, a spark of something igniting within him. He doubted that she donned the headband because of him and, logically, he knew it was because of the whole eighties exercise disco zombie look she was going for, but he was okay with lying to himself that it signified remnants of their soulbound connection carrying over from Double Life.

Once he moved on from that speck of hope, he noticed that Cleo looked more exhausted than usual, even for a death game. Their shoulders were hunched forward slightly (which was unlike them, for they usually held their head high, even when they objectively shouldn’t) and their bloodshot eyes were creased with lack of sleep. 

Martyn had experienced exhaustion just as much as the next Player, but that didn’t tend to hit him or any of the other Players he’d talked to until after the winner was declared. The world the games were hosted on usually gave them buffs that upped their strength, resistance to damage, and energy. Knowing that begged the question, why?

Before he could ask, Cleo continued with a weak, “Can I come in?”

Martyn raised an eyebrow at them, considering their question for a moment. They didn’t appear to have malicious plans– and he was weaker to his soulmate’s desires than he was willing to admit– so he stepped back and held the door open for them to walk through. “I won’t stop you.”

Cleo only nodded, officially entering the Coral Isles with permission from one of its cohabitates. That was more than what the rest of the server could claim, for they just barged in most of the time. Careful to avoid the pufferfish that Scott had placed around, Martyn led her up to the deck of their base. Scott had decorated it for company (even if the company was just each other), so it was the most comfortable place above water to take someone. 

“So whatcha here for?” Martyn turned on his heel to face her before flopping down on the cushions in one fluid motion. “I mean, I’m always down to have a bit of a chinwag, especially with you, but y’know: death game, separate factions, limited time, Limited Life.”

“No reason in particular,” Cleo dismissed with a wave of their hand before sitting down near him. Their lips curled into a lighthearted smirk and their eyes gleamed mischievously as they leaned to poke Martyn’s side. “Why? Am I not allowed to see my soulmate and my kids’ godfather?”

Martyn batted her hand away with a chuckle. “I mean, a’course you’re allowed, you always are, but you don’t typically come all the way over here unless you need something. I’m usually the one coming to you.” Cleo’s playful expression morphed back to one of exhaustion as they sighed and rubbed at their face. “I just needed a break from Bdubs and Scar, some peace and quiet, a little tranquility. I love them to the stars and back, as I do with all my friends, don’t get me wrong, but playing the role of ‘mother’ is so, so draining.”

“I can imagine.” Martyn frowned as he glanced in the direction of the Clockers’ base, furrowing his brow for only a moment before turning his attention back to Cleo. “Eyy, well, mate, you’re always free to crash here. I’m sure Scott won’t mind; you two have always been close. Widows’ alliance, chosen soulmates, gatekeep and gaslight, y’know.”

Cleo cracked a smile at that, an airy laugh escaping from their lips. “Thank you, Martyn. You’re the best.”

“I know.” Martyn smirked, allowing overexaggerated confidence to accent his words before he patted the spot next to him. “Now get over here. Your soulmate is insisting on cuddle time. It’s mandatory, no use in protesting.”

“Is that so?” Cleo covered a mildly breathy snort with her hand, accompanied with an affectionate eyeroll and head tilt.

“It is,” Martyn confirmed. “Now hurry up! I’m not getting any younger over here.” “I do see a few silver-y hairs among the blonde,” Cleo responded like it was an agreement, sporting a cheeky grin as she stood up to move herself beside him. “Too bad you aren’t part-zombie because I don’t have to worry about covering up signs of my age like you clearly have to start doing, old man.”

Martyn pinched her arm in retaliation, making Cleo yelp in protest. He barked sharply at her yelp, feeling a sense of triumph and knowing that it didn’t actually hurt. They’ve felt much, much worse playing these games, and the server would numb that sensation significantly to help with the whole killing each other thing. “That’s what you get!”

“You’re the worst,” Cleo huffed, leaning her body into Martyn, using him like a pillow.

Martyn wrapped his arm around his sleepy soulmate, more than content with this fate. Still, he couldn’t resist shooting back, “I thought I was the best?”

“I would like to retract my earlier statement,” Cleo murmured into his chest, red hair standing out against his neon green shirt. 

“Denied, now go to sleep,” Martyn instructed, resting one hand on their back and the other against the back of their head. He gently scratched his fingers against her scalp and she sighed peacefully in response, taking his command of sleeping to heart. 

It didn’t take long before soft snores rumbled in her chest. Martyn peered fondly down at her before pressing a caring yet chaste kiss against her untamable curls. One would think they smelled foul because of their zombie hybridity, but they didn’t. They smelled more, like, vaguely earthy? Martyn struggled to place it, but if he had to, he would describe their scent as turned dirt and foliage with a faint hint of smoke.

Tiredness tugged at his eyelids and he wondered if perhaps he should sleep as well. Void knows they both probably need it, especially with how bloodlust-y everyone has been (seemingly more so than usual for how few reds there were) because of the ticking timer. Besides, there were much worse ways to spend an afternoon than being trapped under his soulmate’s resting body.

Arms wrapped around Cleo, Martyn leaned his head back against the headrest. He let his eyelids flutter close before squeezing them shut as a yawn forced his mouth open. He smacked his lips together after the yawn finished, a shiver shooting down his limbs. Martyn hugged Cleo closer to him, using her body for any hint of warmth (there wasn’t much due to her slowed heartbeat and blood circulation) and protection from the wind it would provide. He was out like a submerged torch only a moment later.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

to celebrate your 500 followers, can i request #3 with javi and osita, pleaseeee? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

I have a feeling this is not what this prompt was intended for, but it's Javi and Osita, so of course they're gonna be arguing over something stupid 😂

Draw Two

Summary: Your class has had indoor recess this week, and you take Javi to help you look for games to keep them occupied

Word Count: 468 (He's just a lil guy)

Warnings: Loosing at Uno (literally none, it's all cute hehe)

Part of the It's Never Too Late series!

Part of the 500 Followers Celebration!

Laredo had been going through its most rainy period in years. While it was great for the farmers and crops that so desperately needed it, for you, it was pure torture. All this rain meant only one thing for your teacher brain- Indoor Recess. Your kids had been cooped up and on the brink of chaos from all the time they had spent inside, and with another week of rain in the forecast, Javi had agreed to go shopping with you to find some new things to occupy your students before everyone’s sanity completely went out the window. 

“Oh, I love this one!” You beamed, picking up a small red box and holding it up to Javi. 

“Uno? The game is called One?” He scrunched his face as he held up the box to read it. 

“You’ve never played Uno?! Okay well it looks like we’re getting two of these! You wanna play when we get home?” You asked, grinning, as you threw two of the games into your cart. 

“Sure Osita, it’s just matching numbers and colors, how hard can it be?” Javi chuckled to himself, pressing a kiss on your forehead, always amused by how much the simplest things in life he got to do with you always brought him the most joy. After cruising through a few more isles, you grabbed a few more toys and puzzles before checking out and heading back to your house to let your Uno tournament commence.

It didn’t take long for both of your competitive natures to make an appearance after you started playing after your trip, Javi’s patience now growing thin after his 3rd loss in a row, wondering how in the world the cards in his hand had been growing at an exponential rate after each round. 

“I fucking hate you…” Javi grumbled pulling what seemed like his thousandth card from the pile this turn. 

“No you don’t! Take that back right now!” You laid down your hand to playfully swat at Javi, laughing at the ridiculous amount of cards he now found himself holding. “It’s not my fault you can’t find a 3 or a blue!” 

“Then how the fuck do you only have two cards left?! Jesus, okay there, a red 3, can my turn be done now?” Forcefully slamming his last draw into the pile, Javi rolled his eyes at the lack of cards you now were holding, and the half of the deck he seemed to be. You paused, a mischievous smirk growing across your face as you took your turn, slowly lowering your card of choice into the pile. 

“I’m so sorry…” you giggled, not apologetic in the slightest. 

“Osita…” Javi sighed, bracing himself for the inevitable cards he was about to the collection already overflowing in his hands. 

“…. Draw two.... Uno.” 

“Fuck you.”

Taglist:

@cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts

[jev-urisk]

🌐7 Circles: Entry

Preamble/chapter 0/intro page

(Tf do you call something like this? Help?)

🎉and its my 1st writing post!🎉

7 paragraphs, soft tw for heights. (Respectful) concrit welcome: Could you imagine the characters? Did this pique your interest? What do you think about the length?

💠 💠 💠

High above the earth and sailing down from the heavens is a ship, winding its way to the ground like a feather on the breeze. It looks much like the kind that would sail on water, albeit a rather small one, and the warm colours of its curved wooden keel gently contrast the azure and gold sails curved to fullness by the wind.

At its helm, upon a deck lit brightly by the sun overhead, four hands grasp the ship's wheel. Skin blue and bangles gold, the tall figure turns the ship, using the strength of all their limbs to move the sail against the wind current.

Their thigh-length mauve braid of hair whips about them and their eyes, entirely green from pupil to sclera, narrow against the wind. It didn't much matter where they landed, so long as it was within the un-poisoned area of the surface world, but The Kalilith people didn't have a winter on their isle in the sky and the explorer didn't much fancy finding out how well they would fare against the vast arctic region on the north end of the continent below.

The gilded sailboat creaks as it changes course and a second Kalilith comes up from the cabin below to join the first. He's taller and his four bare arms more muscular. His red eyes look to the person at the helm, his expression cross as he marches across the deck.

"By my south hand, child–The current is too strong for that!" he says, raising his voice against the gale as he speaks to his more delicate charge. "We should let the wind carry our descent, not turn against it!"

Magic vessel it may be, but the ability to ride the wind and the ability to withstand it were two different things. The male Kalilith barely reaches the wheel before a loud snap is heard and he turns to see rigging being ripped out of place.

"But our trajectory had us flying into a tundra! If we land only to die before making contact, the mission is forfeit!" The first one retorts, aristocratic accent sharp as they raise their voice. They may be the younger of the two, and they're certainly no warrior, but it was their mission nonetheless.

"Take care of the rigging.” they order, “If I can get us past the ice we'll be much better off," they catch the red gaze of their attendant who hisses in contempt before rushing to comply.

Far, far below, a citizen of chilly north Danaport squints up at the sky, gasping in disbelief as they see something fall to the earth.

💠 💠 💠

Tagging @scorpiothesaint @katenewmanwrites @officialauthorofanotherworld and @thelaughingstag bc I'm particularly excited to share with yall ✨️

[edmontondecking]

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[illarian-rambling]

Hi @elizaellwrites! It's been a second, but thanks for the tag :)

ROY G. BIV TAG

Rules: find excerpts in your WIP with the colors of the rainbow listed

I'm curious to see how far I can get in Starbreaker

Red:

Loqang grimly enfolded Anarac’s red-skinned hand in his larger, scarred ones. Beyond the illusion, he could just see the rippling impression of the god’s hundred aqueous wings spreading in preparation for flight.

“Are you ready, my friend?” Loqang asked.

Yellow:

Faalgun and Kaulakri glanced around in confusion, as did Anarac, before one of Faalgun’s yellow eyes landed right upon the staircase he hid under. Anarac froze at once—a mouse staring down a hawk. Don’t see me. Please don’t see me. You’re dangerous. People are dangerous, and I can’t take any more danger.

“Hello?” Faalgun called cautiously.

Anarac dug his nails into the deck, shaking slightly, unsure of what to do. He was sure if he tried to speak, nothing but the scream would come out. He huddled more snugly under the stairs and did his best to pretend he was anywhere else. Sun’s Light protect me, I never should’ve come.

Green:

Pushing through, Anarac recalled the odd braided belts the Nabafyrian warrior-priests had worn. Some had been decorated with tufts of what looked like hair. Nyda wore a similar belt—two strips of brown leather stuck through with tiny braids of green, red, brown, and black. He wondered what the significance was. She had seemed put out by Pash’s assumption that she was a guard, though, then again, she seemed put out by most things.

Blue:

Blinking liquid dark eyes, she stared called up towards the helm. “Are we stable? I’m not….”

She trailed off as she turned back and finally took in what was beyond the engine. A huge blue globe hung in the sky like a looming titan, bigger than anything the mortal mind could truly imagine. The selkie’s hands unclenched and her lips parted to reveal pointed teeth as she stared out at the planet of Illaros for the first time.

In typical Illaros fashion, no land was visible. People always waxed poetic about the vastness of the continent of Iarl or the majestic spread of the Janazi Isles, but that was really only because no Illari person had ever experienced anything else. All the land on their planet made up an optimistic three percent of the total surface area. This was a water world, in truth, dominated by the vast and terrible Oresea that even now remained impassable as the people of Illaros took their first tottering steps into the black of space. It was a blue, storm-tossed globe that stared down at their suddenly miniscule ship like a milky eye.

Ok, not bad for 30 pages. And I'm always happy to drop the secret Illaros-waterworld lore :)

I'll tag @ominous-feychild @gothamxwattpad @far-cry-from-finality @watermeezersworldofkaldria @world-of-iridensia and anyone else who wants in!

[hetalianskywalker]

Day 17: Here

Pairing: Siren Thorn x Pirate Reader

Summary: You find someone unexpected guarding the edge of the Mandolarian sector.

Author’s Note: This man also fought me tooth and nail to be written so sorry if it’s a bit rough.

Warnings: cursing and I imply something 18+ happened off screen.

Word Count: 971

Prompt: How about this as a trade? You visit me personally, bring me jewelry and other nice things, flatter me with compliments, and then maybe I’ll grant you access to cross my waters. Sound good, pirate?”

Prompt from “Pirate x Mermaid Plots” by auideas

“Come on handsome. Please let us pass.” The group of red and white tailed Mer all got a good laugh out of that one. You roll your eyes before looking at their leader again. The blonde flashes you a dashing smile which is quite the feet with such sharp teeth.

“Sorry, cyar’ika. Strict orders from the Sea Alor himself.” You blink in surprise. Since when did the Mer clones work for their prime?

“Please! I’m not going to the Mandalore Isles; I just need to pass through the waters. I swear I will literally do anything!” You beg as your fists bang down on the ship railing.

“Anything?” The Mer asks as he tilts his head to the side.

“Anything. Please the empire is chasing me! I don’t have time for this.” You growl.

He looks you dead in the eyes and you swear you’ve met this particular Mer before. There is a decent possibility for it; you had lived on Coruscant for a little over a year with your Coruscant Guard lover, Thorn. You had met more Mer clones than you could count.

“Lower the ladder.” He says the command softly, but it’s a command nonetheless. You wave for your men to do as he says even as they turn to you terrified. After a stern look, they lower the latter. You watch him shift into human form; his red and white armor shines in the afternoon sun.

Once he’s on deck, you are able to see the wings on his helmet and your heart lands in your stomach. He is dead. Fox, Stone, and Thire had all told you he died.

“Don’t feel too bad you didn’t recognize me. You’ve never actually seen me in Mer form before.” Thorn chuckles as he takes off his helmet and shakes out his blonde curls. You stare in pure shock at the face of a man you had already mourned.

“Captain, who is this?” Your crew looks between you two very confused. You just stand there in complete and utter shock. Thorn’s smile fades for a second before he turns to look at your crew. He takes a deep breath and soft siren song fills the air. Your crew falls into a trance and they all pass out by the end of it; each dreaming of their most wanted desires. Thorn had sung you that same song on nights when your insomnia had been bad. Oh stars, it really was him.

“Where have you been?” You mutter. You sound utterly pathetic and you don’t care.

“Cyare...”

“Don’t ‘cyare’ me!” You scream as you stomp up into his personal space. “Where The Fuck Have You Been!?”

His hands cup your face and you finally notice you’ve been crying. You want more than anything to just dive into his arms, but you have been so angry at everything since he died. It felt like all the light in the world had gone out. Yet the world kept on going as your life fell apart after the battle of Scipio. Apparently, he had moved right along as well.

“I was dead for a few minutes and I was told some natural Mer found me. After they got my heart beating again, they took me back to Mandalore. The Sea Alor was setting the groundwork to help all of us and I couldn’t jeopardize that. It could have gotten you and so many of my brothers killed.” He’s trembling as he leans his forehead against yours. “But I missed you. There were nights when I would just ache to be with you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. He squeezes you tightly in turn; your bodies molding against one another like they had so many times before. He was here. Thorn was really alive and here. This wasn’t a dream.

“So you went back to being a pirate?” Thorn teases as you lay in your bed with him. Your captain’s quarters had never felt complete up until now. You roll your eyes, but don’t move from your spot against his chest. You are far too comfortable.

You listen to him breathe and the soft sound of your crew’s feet against the deck above you. Thorn had woken them back up and ordered his men to let the ship through. He and a few of the men would accompany you to make sure you got through the sector without causing trouble.

“And you're still a guard.” You snort, causing him to chuckle for a quick second. You had so missed that sound.

“Hey, I’m having a lot more fun at this post than my last one. Thank you very much.” You cackle together at his teasing. It fades off into complete silence for a moment; you both need to discuss the future, but neither you really want to.

“So since my guardsmen can only give me special treatment this once, what do I need to bring to cross the sector next time?” You ask with a smile even though the thought of leaving his side again makes you want to be sick.

“How about this as a trade?” Thorn mumbles into your hair, but you can hear the small smile in his voice. “You visit me personally, bring me jewelry and other nice things, flatter me with compliments, and then maybe I’ll grant you access to cross my waters. Sound good, pirate?”

After a long pause, you’re both laughing again. You pull back from him just enough to kiss him; his laughter becomes lost in a soft moan.

“It would be my pleasure, siren.” You flirt with a smug smile as you pull back. You look into his soft brown eyes, just happy to have them in your life again. “No price is too high for you.”

[bartholomew79]

THE IRONREAVER

Words: 5k+

Art: Morano, Fantasy Flight Games - Dagmer Cleftjaw.

Summary: An Ironborn Captain reaves in Lys, him and other Lord-Captain's seek to take the keep near the shore.

TW: Violence - blood - death - sexual themes - alcohol.

The sea reeked of blood.

On the captain's deck of Elyse; Aenor Greyaxe felt two hundred oars stride through water. Its mast carrying a sigil of a black kraken on a red field. While not the sigil of his mother’s house of Greyjoy, golden kraken on a black field, Aenor felt pride in seeing his sail while reaving.

Aenor carried himself with the power of Ironborn captains. Wearing heavy plate even at sea, black kraken beaten into the center of the chestpiece and tentacles moving and whirling. Heavy chainmail over boiled black leather protected his underbody, padded gloves covered his hands with iron steel plate gauntlets. Aenor’s warhelm, decorated with his black kraken, had its tentacles coiled around his jaw. He carried his double-headed axe in his right arm, a kraken embroidered on its head, and a shield at his left with the same markings, a steel dirk attached to his belt.

A Drowned Priest taught Aenor that the waves took him as a babe. His birth father wished the welt to appear before the Drowned God to not incur the ire of Harlaw Greyjoy, Lord Paramount of the Iron Isles, and brother to Elyse Greyjoy, Aenor’s mother. A day passed until Aenor was found upon the shore, seaweed hanging from his head. His birth father gave himself to the waves as just punishment, the Drowned God could not go without sacrifice. What a fool, my father did not realize the Drowned God sent me to reave and plunder as the Old Way demanded. My only jewels are from foes, salt wives taken from lesser men who meet my axe. This is the way of Ironborn, the iron price must be paid. 

Upon the deck, the black kraken’s thoughts were interrupted by Vice Captain Quellon’s voice.

 “My Lord-Captain, the Elyse is entering the outskirts of the skirmish, shall we sail into battle?”

Yes, skirmish and raiding are over. Battle will come, the Drowned God calls us with blood and roaring waves. How could Quellon not see it? He is here, I cannot disappoint him. 

“Make ready.” Aenor said as he donned his kraken warhelm. 

“MAKE READY!” boomed the vice-captain. 

The crew looked upon them only a moment until they rushed to quarters and stocked cells to retrieve weaponry and armor. The ship seemed alive, each man taking shifts at the oars only long enough to replace the next, returning with battle attire. Never losing its speed.

Good, they know I see them. Thought the black kraken. As the Elyse entered the fray, Aenor saw broken ship hulls among the water, Ironborn and others floated or clung to whatever they could. Cynical captains may have helped these men, but Aenor knew better. The Drowned God is a jealous one and his halls await the faithful, if not. They will find them among the shorelines. For what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger. I was drowned as a mere babe; the sea shall never have my fear. The voyage from Pyke to Lys had been arduous to be sure, but this raid will reinvigorate the men, women, and plunder is only promised to an Ironborn who takes it. Aenor had come too late for sea battle but lost and repairing ships remained to be taken. These will be easy pickings and refocus the men, to prepare for battle at the shores of Lys. The black kraken relayed commands to Quellon and descended onto the deck.

“REALIGN THE MAST! STALL OARS! PREPARE FOR BOARDING!” Thundered the Vice Captain. 

The approaching Lyseni ship was in no state for battle, mast shattered in the fighting with men bawking and rushing to repair it, only a few realized their arrival before boarding began. 

The black kraken braced against the smashing of ships, splinters and men flew but the Elyse did not shudder. He leapt the gunwale and onto the vessel as Lyseni and Ironborn arrows raced past, steel was ripped from scabbards, Quellon was still barking orders as men followed Aenor. A Lyseni arrow took the neck of a man next to him.

 “MEET US IF YOU DARE!” Aenor bellowed, his Ironborn shouting as steel clashed.

Meeting a silver-haired Lyseni with grey steel, Aenor took the man's slash with his shield before shoving the blade away and advancing to put an axe into the unguarded arm. Bone crunched and blood sprayed as the man screamed, Aenor wretched the axe free before smashing it into his neck. The black kraken moved to the next, slaying one, then another, and another. Soon Aenor was surrounded as steel smashed and cut on heavy plate, butchering one before he felt a spear take his shoulder between plates. Roaring, Aenor spun and smashed his axe on the man, body dancing as he fell and soaking the deck with blood. The remaining Lyseni hesitated, enough for Ironborn to commit a frenzied attack to protect their captain and prove themselves. Aenor tried to march on but the pain in his shoulder was almost too much to bear. I rushed ahead, the battle fever took me and nearly cost all. My Ironborn have saved me, there will be great gifts this reaving. Aenor sought to find the captain and have a worthy duel, seeing him upon his deck. He choked through the pain and cut his way to the man.

Although he dressed flamboyantly, yellows, blues and reds adorning his tunic and surcoat, Lys trading banners embroidered onto his steel chestpiece. The Lyseni captain was not of Lys, his skin black as onyx, taller than Aenor by a foot. Bodies surrounded the man with some almost in half, his steel poleaxe covered in blood. The captain said something in a language he did not understand and took a defensive stance. Aenor said nothing, the pain was too great for talk. The captains circled, Aenor’s axe at his side with battered shield in front, it felt like minutes had passed before the onyx man lunged, his poleaxe shredded his steel shield with each hit, the black kraken barely keeping up with his ferocity. Finally, his shield was shattered with an overhead smash of the axe. Aenor shifted at the last moment, barely dodging the blow. Pain crossed his body, but Aenor stayed himself and studied the man. He grows tired, his stance sloppier and his weapon not raised as it was. Aenor knew that if he feigned his wound, the captain would likely try one desperate lunge to end the duel. But that is not the way of the Ironborn, what would my God say when I came to him, that I would curse his sea with the tactics of cravens? If I meet the Drowned God in his halls. I will go a brave man. They danced once more on equal footing, the poleaxe bashing at parts of Aenor’s plate while he parried and riposte with his axe at every chance. The onyx-colored man was slowing down, dangerously slow. At a strong parry Aenor grabbed the poleaxe with his free hand, and with a swing severed the man from neck to groin. Blood splashed the deck and his feet as he took a moment to collect himself.

On his way to overlook the ship, pain stabbed at him again. I mustn't let this take me; the true battle hasn’t begun. Aenor glanced over the railing, the Ironborn that noticed celebrated him. But many were taking jewels, good steel and armor. Women were being lined up from below deck to become salt wives, none appearing ravaged, rape was not permitted while Aenor Greyaxe was captain of the Elyse. As his lady mother wished when he blessed the vessel with her name. When Aenor was but a lad some highborn lackwit from Great Wyk defied this order and was met with an axe between his eyes. 

He joined his crew on the deck, his Ironborn clamoring around him to tell of their great deeds, many took a chant. 

“When you were accosted I led the charge captain!” said a newly one-eyed man.

“GREYAXE! GREYAXE! GREYAXE!”

“Three Lyseni tried to slay me, none succeeded Lord-Captain!” Shouted an older man with a dozen cuts.

“GREYAXE! GREYAXE! GREYAXE!”

Once they had quieted, Aenor and Quellon distributed great gifts to the men who most noticeably performed, just as he promised himself, the most beautiful salt-wives were given to those that came to the black kraken’s defense. Aenor did not permit himself one, his pain was too fierce to be distracted by the charm of women. Prisoners were tied to the boat with their legs shattered, a final blessing was given to Ironborn corpses before they too were tied to the ship as they sunk it. Drowned God, witness my gifts, and bless me. The crew were celebrating wildly, they had gone for months without combat, and this gave them purpose again. But the cost, my Ironborn rusted in their inaction, too many lost. The pain in his shoulder was making him go mad, he drifted to his quarters and summoned his thrall, Quellon, and a Maester they bought from a Braavosi ship. 

In his quarters they discussed, Aenor kept quiet, wishing to hear all he could from councilors before he spoke. As to not dilute talks with the captain looming. The thrall was a eunuch and mute. He did not understand the common tongue at first so Aenor thought of slicing his throat and giving him to the waves, but the boy was quick and diligent, something most thralls lacked. As he carefully took off the black kraken’s armor, Maester Altaid and Vice-Captain Quellon balked over Aenor’s condition. 

“The Lord-Captain is not unwell, maester, he slew half a dozen even after this cut, I saw it.” Said Quellon stubbornly. 

He talks as if a fork pricked me. Pain washed over Aenor as his thrall unbuckled armor. 

“Whether that is true matters not. His life's-blood drips through heavy plate even now, we must remove it and assess the damage before he can do battle on the shore!” Maester Altaid was quick to speak, he spent his life correcting men it seemed. 

“What of life’s-blood? The captain has received worse and given as well, if the men see he will not reave. Whose men will they come back as? Then it will be our blood, Maester.” 

Aenor heard enough. My captain becomes paranoid in his care for me. “Aye, I will not rot while men die for me, nor act the fool and charge while my blood spills.” 

He glanced at the thrall. ”Remove this damnable armor NOW!” The boy hurried.

Aenor laid on his stomach, his upper plate off and back bare to the Maester, it felt as if it was on fire, pulsating heat and pain. 

“Speak as you see it, no surprises.” Aenor said coldly. 

Maester Altaid did not reply, instead, he looked and prodded the wound. Streaks of lightning crossed Aenor every time, but he bared his teeth. 

“It is not fatal.” the Maester said quickly. Pulling a sharpened steel knife, herbs, ointments, and potions from his pouch. “Send your servant and the Ironborn to fetch a sewing kit and milk of the poppy from my quarters.” 

The black kraken grimaced. “The Storm God take you and your poppy! The battle cannot wait, my men will grow restless.” 

“Of course not my captain, it is for the procedure, only enough to dull the pain.” Said the Maester, not coldly. 

Quellon spoke up. “Do you not hear? Shall I carve your tongue out so you may focus on your ears?”

“None of it, I cannot risk dulling my senses even for this. You two will bring the kit.” Aenor finished. The boy rushed out, but Quellon was slower, his eyes never leaving the maester. When they left, Altaid turned to the captain.

The Maester began. “My Lord-Captain, the pain-” 

“Enough!" He roared. "I am Aenor Greyaxe, men fear me and widows cry out when I depart their shores, pain shall not defeat me, tend it.”

Altaid said nothing, giving the captain a piece of boiled leather to bite. He began to cut, feeling skin being ripped and pulled as if his back was being devoured, the captain let out a single long shout as pain overcame him. 

Aenor woke to seawater filling his nostrils and shot up, has my God taken me? But then the pain began to seep. He glanced at himself and the bandages covering one shoulder, looking up he saw Altaid and Quellon, the thrall with a drinking horn, dripping. 

Confusion turned to rage. “Damn you all, how long have I laid?”

Quellon jumped forward. “Minutes, Lord-Captain. This Maester is quick.” 

“I could not bear it?” Aenor’s anger melted to shame. Have I been forsaken? I have refused the poppy before; what weakness has taken me?

“Your body could not handle it Lord-Captain, ‘bearing the pain’ means naught.” Said Altaid.

In my younger years mayhaps. But no longer it seems, the waves wait for no one, not even the Drowned God’s blessed. 

Aenor banished his thoughts the best he could. I cannot doubt now, doubt is for men, I am of the kraken. He stood up slowly, refusing the help his thrall offered. The pain remained but he could think now, he could fight. 

“There is news from the front.” Said Altaid nervously.

“Tell me then, what of Lord Blacktyde? The other lords?” Questioned Aenor. 

“A raven came from Lord Blacktyde, celebrating our arrival. He begs us to bring support.” Said Altaid.

“Begs?” Aenor had not known Lord Blacktyde to beg for anything. “Explain yourself.”

Quellon chimed in. “His forces are beset, two-thousand, a sally was led out of Lys that broke the Ironborn in half, about eight hundred mounted riders. For a fortnight there have been skirmishes but no open battle. Blacktyde thinks that a pitched one will come soon to exploit our defeats, he has spotted Lyseni camps near their position. Harlaw and Goodbrother are at least three days of voyage away.”

A siege? With the men he had? Blacktyde is brave but was never built for strategy. The Lyseni mounted alone were almost half his force. 

“What fighting Ironborn remains to us?” Questioned Aenor. 

“At most? Two-hundred and fifty.” Said Quellon. 

The Maester realized what was happening. “Do not think you can change the tide, Lord Captain. You would be merely wasting your men! Go to Lord Blacktyde, your presence will inspire, when they sally our bloodied warriors will meet them.” 

“Only a fool would fight them conventionally, we have nearly no riders of our own.” Said Quellon. 

Yes, it cannot be an open battle. Not until Lord Harlaw arrives but that will take time, time for the Lyseni to ride us down. “Quellon, take your best and be my eyes, prepare a landing party.” He glanced at the thrall. “My heavy plate, now. Afterwards, I want you with me.” The boy was frightened but understood. 

Finally, he turned to Maester Altaid. “If the battle is lost, my Ironborn will not let you go unmolested. Give yourself to the waves or use that steel knife you have.” 

“You will march with not even five hundred? You damn yourself, Lord Captain!” Said Altaid desperately.

“Mayhaps, but a victory must come before we meet Blacktyde. Let his Ironborn think we are a thousand as we devour these camps he speaks of.” 

The thrall eagerly began to attach the captain's armor. He learns our language swiftly and with temperament of my own, he would have been a fine Ironborn. Quellon departed with a satisfied look upon his person, Aenor heard cheers throughout the Elyse soon after. Altaid did not look as pleased, slowly gathering his things and departing. Feeling his heavy plate, the black kraken felt the tightness in his chest, pain thumping across his shoulder. This is a cost of foolishness, even a kraken can bleed. He strode to his wardrobe and clamped a streaming black cloak with fabrics in several different endings that reached his ankles and appeared like kraken arms. Aenor departed his quarters, the thrall with axe and light armor closely behind, kraken embroidery beaten or sewn into most of his attire. Ironborn stared, searching for confidence in the battle to come. He made his way to the captain's deck, Quellon leading the Elyse to land.  They must hear me; silence only breeds fear. 

He raised his axe. “COME WITH ME, MY IRONBORN! KILL WITH ME, MY IRONBORN! RAGE WITH ME, MY IRONBORN!” 

The ship erupted, men proclaiming their eternal loyalty, promising to fight like no other, some wishing the captain to merely look upon them with blessings. But all wishes and words turned to chant.

“GREYAXE! GREYAXE! GREYAXE!”

Quellon’s voice boomed above all to the captain. “BRACE!” 

Aenor held a railing, the ship smashing against the coast and sliding to a stop, for a moment his shoulder wound felt like it was being torn open, but it subsided. He wasted no time, making his way to the deck as Quellon rushed to gather men and the mules they had to ride ahead of the party. After Quellon rode on, Aenor was the first to descend the ship to lead his Ironborn. The terrain was grasslands and beaten roads packed with mud and dirt. Smoke could be felt through the air and bodies from all sides were being found closer to Lord Blacktyde. We do not belong here; it becomes harder to feel the Drowned God the farther we stray. Lords Harlaw and Goodbrother will answer for this. Eventually, the trees were beginning to thin out and replaced with stumps. The grassland and packed roads turned into the remains of a battle.

Ironborn littered the site for hundreds of feet, arrows and steel scattered all around, fire consumed some parts as smoke rose. Almost no Lyseni were found save for horse corpses with bodies underneath. This is where Blacktyde fought. He can’t be too far. Aenor could tell his men were growing antsy, their vigor from earlier now replaced with confusion and fear. He filed his two hundred and fifty into two groups surrounding the supply wagon, but as they marched through the aftermath of battle some drifted off to look upon their dead allies or steal weapons and armor.  The captain roared to not disperse. I do not like it here, if we are set upon by riders it would be a slaughter. He quickened their pace as his small army made its way back into the tree line, they continued without harassment. Making camp a mile from the site, knowing they were close to the intersection between Lys and Blacktyde. The sun was beginning to set before Quellon rode back with his men.

Quellon led them, sweat swains and dust covered him and a tired mule. “My Lord-Captain, we have dire matters to discuss.”

Aenor did not like the sound of this. “Come.” He turned to his thrall.  “Give an apple to the mule and let it rest. When we return I want a fresh one ready for the Vice-Captain.” The thrall held the mule and quickly made way with it. 

The captain's pavilion was only a couple feet larger than his men’s, inside was a smoldering fire and maps, honeyed roasted apples, boar meat burnt black, and cellar wine sweetened with honey covering the makeshift table with two chairs at each end. Quellon sat, took a chunk of meat, and quenched his thirst with wine.  The captain was right behind him, pulling the other chair closer to the Vice-Captain. As Quellon marked two positions on the map.

The black kraken took a glance at it before turning. “The Lyseni camp first, then Blacktyde.” Aenor said.

Quellon took a breath. “Half a mile, at the least. Lyseni scouts were many so we couldn’t get close. I managed to slip their perimeter, at least five hundred fighting men from my count. Guards around every entrance and quickly built wooden stakes for walls, you could see the smoke from fires for miles at a high angle, and I could hear bottles, songs, drums, and women. They celebrate my Lord-Captain. Their victories have given them vitality.” 

Aenor smiled. “Celebrating? Do they seek to ride on the morrow and finish their victory?”

“Most like, horses were being taken in and out for scouts. I saw a stable but could not count the horses, forgive me Lord-Captain.” Said Quellon. 

Why does he act so? He knows everything he says only means victory for us. “Forgive you? How have you wronged me? What are you not telling me, old friend?” 

Quellon took a long drink. “Blacktyde, his position is wretched. No walls to speak of, some entrance guards had carrion abound, feasting, the stench…some Ironborn were dragging chopped-off pieces of bodies, I know not the reason. I heard fighting and shouting deeper in the camp, they won’t last much longer. If the Lyseni sally out tomorrow, Blacktyde is done.” 

These were his dire matters. I cannot reinforce his fears. “Blacktyde will be dealt with, what more of the Lyseni camp?” 

A deep breath took the Vice-Captain. “The western entrance is the weakest, none go through it but to relieve themselves, that will be best.” He marked that on the map too.

Aenor had them. “You have done exactly what I needed.” He grabbed Quellon’s shoulder. The vice-captain flushed red. “Request anything at all and it will be yours.”

“Let me go with you, Lord-Captain, I could not reave so allow me this.” Quellon said quickly. 

“Done, you will be summoned when required.” 

The Vice-Captain sat up, healthier and happier than he arrived, and departed with a final smile, his sharp eyes never leaving Aenor. 

The captain stirred over his maps. At least half a mile without revealing our position, is it possib-

His thoughts ceased. We will make it, there's no other choice. Doubt when your wars are over, and the Drowned God is finished with you. 

Night came quickly, Aenor studied the land while the fire was still available, they would head north to the camp, swing around just as it appeared on the horizon, and ride into the fray through that western entrance, Aenor would lead one hundred and fifty and the other hundred would be commanded by Quellon to cover the eastern and northern entrance, any that fled through there would be slaughtered by waiting Ironborn. Leaving the southern entrance for cowards to flee, if they were trapped. They would fight harder, possibly taking his advantage. 

Besides, let them talk of the black kraken, how walls and men did not save any from the fury of the sea. By then the boy was guarding outside his tent, he called and ordered that all commanders be summoned, and after repeating his plans aloud they understood, ready to depart. Aenor gave the call, and all went to make ready. Outside he heard shouting, the thrall was using a whetstone on the captain's axe, still flaked with dry blood, the captain himself sharpened his dirk. His heavy plate was checked for any infringements or weakness, and when none were found Aenor donned his helm once more. His men were standing and waiting as he left the tent with the boy. They looked upon their captain, many smirked, and others raised their weapons silently. 

He looked upon the ranks, as he always did before a true battle. Armor adorned every Ironborn, maces, falchions, spears, axes, morningstars their weapons. Bloodied reavers no longer, my warriors. He turned and led the march, never looking back. Quellon and his outriders scouting miles ahead.

The clouds covered their movements, the ground around pitch black, a torch was allowed for every seventy-fifth man to lower risk. Not a noise was made, only the silent marching. Some relieved themselves of their nerves and others a silent purge, mouth covered the entire process. Sweat covered Aenor head to toe, dripping off his large beard, his shoulder bandages sticking to him, the dried blood flaking as his body moved. Quellon should be here soon enough. They marched for what felt like half an hour more until Aenor saw a lone man ride to them. 

“My Lord-Captain.” Quellon’s voice was a whisper. “My positions are ready, two Lyseni at every entrance. The fires dwindle and not many noises were heard in the camp.” 

Drunkenness has taken them. They are ours. The black kraken turned to his Ironborn as Quellon rode down the line, he dismounted and grabbed a shield and mace, a hundred men followed as his mule was led away and Quellon departed. Aenor’s crossbowmen shifted to the front, and they traveled to the western entrance. Only when Aenor appeared in the open were the Ironborn allowed to follow. His thrall turned to his captain, a silent embrace. Give me your blessings, boy. He departed with Quellon. Aenor and his chosen crept on the outer perimeter, he led a detachment of crossbowmen to the south gate then went to the western, five and ten aiming at each to ensure no men left alive. He left middlemen along the way from the southern to the western to give a signal to each when the bolts went. When all lay still he gave his mark, and western men went down. Bolts flying into and through them as they collapsed, seconds after middlemen confirmed the other gate was free. Aenor’s grip tightened around his axe, his new steel shield beside him. He made his way into the open and towards the makeshift wall to ensure no one saw him.

His Ironborn crept out slowly at first, but soon the wave crashed as men marched slowly. Tightening armor, adjusting helms, sliding steel from sheathes with caution, some made prayers to the Drowned God, others a brotherly embrace. Aenor made his way to them. It does not matter if the Lyseni see me, it will not save them.

His Ironborn stopped just before his person, Aenor raised his axe once more and turned, he heard footsteps behind him. He quickened his pace almost into a run and could see his men beside him now. Aenor Greyaxe began to sprint, his heavy plate slowing him down as lightly armored men ran in front of the captain. He stopped at the first tent he saw, ripped open its entrance, and slammed his axe into the body he felt. Blood sprayed the tent as a woman next to him began to shriek, he ripped his axe out and put it in between her eyes. Should’ve kept quiet. He could hear shouting and grey steel clashing outside. He departed and made his way to the next tent, and the next. His axe bloodier each time, he saw a struggle after leaving his latest, a drunk Lyseni managed to grab his dirk and was dancing with one of his, he sprinted to the Lyseni’s left and heaved his axe into the naked man's neck. His body smashed the ground as he twitched, his fingers fidgeting around the dirk. These are not the sailors we faced; these are soldiers. He looked around and saw two leaving the same tent, trying to prepare, he rushed to meet them but wasn’t quick enough and one rolled out of his overhead smash of the axe. The second took an offensive position and thrust his sword with blazing speed. Aenor barely able to get his shield up, but the captain returned with a low smash of his axe that sliced the man's calf. He was about to finish him when the other Lyseni came back and heaved a spear into his plate, sticking it there, he turned and pulled on the pole before Aenor shattered the spear in half with his axe, rushing the man and hewing his arm off at the shoulder, his grunts and shouts replaced with a long shriek as he covered his wound. Aenor turned and saw the other man lying on the ground, blood everywhere, trying to pull himself back into the tent, the captain ripped the broken spear still left in his plate and put it through the man's neck. He finally looked at his surroundings, fire leaped from tent to tent as men fought and died. The few that fled were being slaughtered just past the gates by bolts or Quellon’s men. Aenor spotted the largest pavilion and made his way there, as he went, he saw a woman crawling from a tent while an Ironborn cleaved a Lyseni again and again. Another Lyseni noisily proclaimed a duel with an Ironborn before someone came from behind and put a dagger through the man's back. The first Ironborn leaping in to smash a mace into his head while he died. 

Lyseni clamored around the large pavilion as he approached, the battle was beginning to end. It must have been a slaughter as there were no more than thirty Lyseni, many pissed their breeches, had only dirks or falchions, some simply had nothing at all on them. After a moment, their leader came out of the pavilion, covered in the half plate like the onyx-colored man once was, he carried a curved sword a couple inches longer than Aenor’s axe, he had the appearance of a Lyseni, white hair fell to his shoulders as his forked purple beard pointed upwards, his blood orange, dark green and brown patterned tunic covered most of his underbody. Aenor stared at the man, Ironborn began to gather around. Quellon’s men slowly entered the gates, killing as they came. 

“The common tongue, Lyseni, do you know it?” Aenor bellowed.

The Lyseni replied. “Yes, yes I do. A mongrel tongue to be sure, maybe I should ask why you do not know mine.” He smirked, his accent thick and perfumed with hints of the Valyrian tongue still spoken through Essos.  

“Drop your arms and you will live, don't, and my men will have you and your soiled boys to the back. They haven't had a woman in a time.” The threat was mostly unfounded, but Aenor hoped it would quell them. 

“You have similar humor to your brothers. I led a flank of the cavalry that smashed your friend down the river, he did not find much funny after that I would think. What is your name, Ironborn? So I may write it in books for the future.” The smirk never left the Lyseni’s face. 

By now a crowd had gathered, some fighting was continuing but this was the last real force left.

Aenor obliged the dead man. “Aenor Greyaxe.”

His smile widened. “I am Vaeron Vhassar, tell your Drowned God that it was I who sent you.” He raised his sword, taking a dueling stance.

Aenor stifled his anger. Forgive his insolence, and guide my axe, my God of the Sea. Aenor came forward, accepting the duel. Men shouted and both sides jeered at each other, fear replaced with pride. He widened his stance, shield in front and axe to his right.

“Come, dead man.” Said Aenor Greyaxe. Vaeron came. 

His first thrust was low, the captain easily blocking it with his steel shield, he responded with a high that chipped Aenor’s war helm. The black kraken roared and sallied, smashing and heaving his axe as the Lyseni parried and dodged before striding away, giving both room to breathe.

Vaeron’s anger slipped. “If not for that armor you’d be half a head shorter, craven.”

Aenor’s own fury was upon him. “This craven is about to kill you, fool.” He rushed forward.

 They danced once more, Aenor leading it as Vaeron’s sword chipped and slashed at the black kraken’s heavy plate and shield, all the while Aenor attempted to furiously land blow after blow upon the man, some hitting his armor or nothing at all. This continued until Vaeron feinted a high and low, distracting Aenor enough for the Lyseni to streak a punch across the captain's face with his steel gauntlet. The world became a blur as the captain smashed the ground, his shield sprawling out of his hands, barely able to cling to his axe. He tasted blood and felt it run down his face, but dared not turn unavowed and sliced the air behind him to ensure the Lyseni was not close, only to find him feet away, laughing. His ears were ringing as men laughed, the Ironborn looked disparaged, some having to be held from interfering in the battle. There must have been hundreds looking at them now. 

The smile remained. “I suppose I cannot curse you for your armor now, we all have our tricks.” Vaeron raised his gauntlet, smeared with blood. 

Aenor had never felt so old as he did now, he was heaving, every breath an effort. Sweat stung his eyes and dripped from his beard. Have you finally done your work with me? He did not know whose work he was thinking of, his head was still spinning and his shoulder pounded fiercely. 

“Kill me then, Lyseni, kill me if you can.” Aenor lowered his stance into a defensive one, his axe facing his outer right side, he ripped his dirk out with his left arm. 

Vaeron strode to the captain, every other attack was a feint, Aenor barely able to dodge before another came and he had to parry. He was too slow, Aenor realized he had to do something or his sword would enter between the plates when he least realized. Aenor made a maddened dash, smashing his axe into the man while slicing with dirk at every chance. Aenor couldn’t breathe, this was everything he had, an overhead smash of the axe missed Vaeron once more, and he responded by thrusting into the captain's face, at the last possible moment Aenor turned his face against the blade. 

He felt flesh burst open right below his eye, blood immediately running down his neck and face. Aenor reeled, throwing his broken helm to the dirt. Vaeron’s smile never left, rushing forward, seeking to end the fight. Aenor dropped his dirk and met the Lyseni with both hands around his axe. They fought as men watched, Vaeron landing blow after blow, barely missing Aenor’s head each time while the force from his axe was beginning to stun the man and he got a lucky cut right above Vaeron’s bicep. Vaeron did a wide sweep of his sword and slammed it against Aenor’s side, the blade stayed in Aenor’s plate, just as the Lyseni began to wretch it free the black kraken grabbed the man's hand, crushing it and pulling him close. Vaeron’s smile disappeared as Aenor with one mighty roar severed Vaeron’s head from his shoulders with his axe, his body dropping instantly, his head flying off towards his Ironborn. 

Aenor dropped to his knees, blood covering his entire face and chest, Vaeron’s sword still in his heavy plate. The world blurred as Ironborn rushed past, he heard screaming and steel clash. A familiar face loomed over, and strong arms grabbed him. It almost looked like Quellon. 

[bucket-barnes]

Frostbite

This came from my “Isle Christmas traditions” writing prompt, I had several different little details in there and this is one I wanted to flesh out. It’s lost revenge/ Harry centric and based in the year long gap between D2 and D3 when Uma wasn’t on the Isle

CW: alcohol and vague descriptions of frostbite

The isle was always cold in the winter, below freezing temperatures and heavy snow were common, especially by the docks. The pirates would often sing and drink to distract themselves from the icicles forming in their hair and the chill in their bones

During Uma’s…absence the past few months, Harry had become the de facto captain of the Lost Revenge, keeping the crew in line, fixing the ship (Uma would love coming back to the ship in perfect condition!) sure, he missed her…a lot, but having the role of Captain was a dream come true for Harry, finally he was “Captain Hook” (though by last name rather than a tragic accident involving his hands)

It was a cold winter morning, Harry had gone onto the ship early to make sure no rats had gnawed on the ropes or chewed through the wood. The winter breeze was cutting through his leather coat, stinging his skin, Harry didn’t mind, he had work to do. Harry continued inspecting the wood and the ropes, all were clear and he moved on to directing the rest of Um- his crew…Uma’s not here

The morning went on and the breeze became stronger, the cold started making Harry’s fingers sting, but he could just hold onto his hook, he’ll be fine, a little cold never hurt anyone… his fingers felt kinda numb but…it’s probably fine

Gil went with Harry to make the daily rounds for extortion, he couldn’t help but notice Harry was pulling at his hands a lot and that they were looking a little red, whenever he asked if he was alright Harry would just brush him off and say he was fine and if he pushed any further Harry would knock him upside the head. As they went through their rounds, Gil kept looking at Harry’s hands, sure Gil isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed but he knew hands weren’t supposed to look like that, it seemed even some of their “clients” knew that too, their eyes shifting between Harry’s hook and his free hand… red, turning purple

The day went on and, despite Gil’s slight worrying, Harry continued his work, though by now his fingers were fully numb and turning blue. Other crew members started to notice the state of their captain’s hands

“Uh…Cap’n?”

Jonas trailed off when he saw the small blisters forming on Harry’s hands, Harry didn’t answer

“Cap’n?”

Jonas tried again, still no answer

“Harry!”

Jonas yelled, which seemed to catch Harry’s attention

“Your hands…”

Jonas nodded to his captain’s hands, cold and stiff from pain, his fingertips a light blue

“They’re fine. Get back to work”

Harry glared at Jonas and then went below deck…coming back with a bottle of rum that he quickly took a large swig from.

The day continued and the sun went down, as did Harry’s general awareness. The pain in his hands had become so much that he took to the pirate’s tradition of drinking until you can’t feel, some of the crew had joined him, if for no other reason than to keep an eye on him. As the pirates drank, some started singing, Gil being one of them. The singing was by no means on key or in any sort of tune, but rum makes anything sound good. As he sang, Gil’s gaze once again turned to Harry’s hands. Blue, blistered, freezing cold

“Harry?”

Gill wearily asked as his singing died off, Harry looked over at his friend, his eyes glazed over with a drunken haze. Gil, not wanting to anger his friend and captain, nodded down to his hands

“The…their fine”

Harry insisted, his words slurring and shaking from the cold

“No…their not”

Gil shook his head, Harry glared at him and took another swig of rum, his face flinched from the pain of gripping the bottle, the bottle slipped from his hand and dropped onto the floor, shattering on impact. The rest of the crew turned their heads to look at the pool of alcohol forming on the deck

“Captain?”

Bonny spoke up cautiously

“Don’t call me that, Uma is our captain, only she gets that title”

Harry raised his voice, it was slurred and angry

“Well Uma isn’t here! Therefore, you are our Cap’n!”

Jonas retorted, matching Harry’s tone, equally drunk. Gil, the only slightly sober one in the moment, quickly tried to diffuse the argument

“Harry, we’re just worried about you”

He tried to explain, but Harry wasn’t in a mood to listen

“Uma is still your Captain and she will be addressed as your Captain!”

Harry drunkenly yelled, he tried to take a step toward Jonas, but he slipped on the puddle of rum, falling backward, his head hitting the floor of the ship’s deck…and he was out like a light

…

I couldn’t think of a decent ending so let’s make this fun- reblog this and write your own ending! I promise you I will look at all of them because I like validation!

[landfilloftrash]

Blood in the Water (part 2 )

***

Warm… 

. . .

. . . ..Warm?

Where warm go. Lost. 

Reach. Find. Cold. 

Cold? 

Missing. 

Missing. 

Problem.

With its mind returning quickly to a semi form of consciousness, the strong taste of heavy copper was in her mouth again while her head pounded. 

Her dreams were always rather vivid, bright and detailed, lingering long into the days to come if it was truly striking— for better or worse; but this one was just fuzzy. Lingering as all of the things within its mind were, as the taste in her beak did now. 

Memories turned to dreams tended to bring the taste to her tongue, but it always remembered the context. Its last one— the last one that struck a chord within her, she should clarify— had it almost gagging on the taste of it in her throat. The tea to settle its nerves had been just as much to wash out the pervasive memory of it in her gizzard. But that had been an odd one out; that didn’t happen often (it had actually never happened before, but it had been too busy as of late to truly file that away), and by the time she woke up, the prevalent taste turned into more of a phantom sense. 

Which then raised the question; 

Why could she still taste it?

Blinking to the waking world was always a tad difficult, but the sheets themselves seemed to be sticking to her. Honestly that could be the case if the material was right, and it forced itself to its claws to maneuver off the bed to find — what was she finding. It looked down to find– ah. Pepper. Pepper was gone. .. And the sheets were cold. The spike of anxiety she pushed forcefully down was going to help no one, and she leaned on the side of the bed to see Ulysses near the edge of it (on the floor. Where she had not last seen him.) pulling himself to his feet as well in exhausted confusion. 

“Where’s Pepper?” were the first sleepy words out of the vampire’s mouth. “I felt them leave.. Tripped ‘ver me. Should’ve been back by now.” 

Its heart began to make itself known.

“Why don’t we go find them,” she replied, easily sliding on a calm veneer as sleep began to vanish.

“Mmm,” Ulysses nodded, looking discomfited, standing with intent to search.

Promptly standing herself, they walked out of the captain’s cabin and gave her a very clear reason why liquid metal rested on her tongue.

That was blood. On the deck. The source was an arrow, struck through two unconscious forms.

Frankly, staring at the darkened wood, the crumpled bodies— winged and horned— and the cloaked, masked figures surrounding their forms turning their heads to gaze at itself and Ulysses, should have gotten her moving, but the only thing that resounded in its head was ‘Get out.’

Ulysses, thank God, had more of a head for what to do in that moment.

“Red Dragon!” he called, drawing his daggers even as he did so, and the ship responded; her riggings snaked and shot through the air with the speed of a loosed arrow.

The seconds ticked slow in its mind. She reached for magic to cast to help with the capture, but the figures— the symbol on the back of their cloaks catching her attention with sword, tree, and other minutia all ensconced in a triangle — threw down smoke, obscuring all of the bodies from view.

As it approached the smoke to see if either Ulysses or the ship was fruitful, the riggings pulled back to reveal an empty noose, and the creaks from the floorboard resembled an apology as Ulysses’ eyes peered up through the gloom with a frantic light.

Gone then.

“Shit,” she hissed, and raced to the top of the crow’s nest with a fierce flap of its wings, peering around the ship in an attempt to see where they had teleported off to— because while a teleportation circle could take them anywhere, a spell could only get them so far.

Her eyes alighted easily upon a ship turning into the fog that surrounded the isle, sliding out of view very rapidly, with its much smaller size.

“Itialuit,” she hissed even quieter, quickly rolling through her options. She could track them. The blood on the deck was fresh enough it lingered in its mouth— but maybe..

Enososin hopped off the crow’s nest as Ulysses sped back up from out of the interior of the ship, slitted eyes wild; “Soleil’s fine, everyone else is fine. It’s only—”

“Pepper,” she confirmed, the distress pitching her voice far too high and loud, “Only Pepper and��” someone horned. Someone horned and knew where to try and find them. “Casanova.” 

Whoever they were, they had her friend and Lockwell’s son. 

If she lost either of them, Lockwell was going to set someone on fire.  So many ‘someone’s.

Ulysses was running a hand through curly hair in clear panic as he paced in an extremely short circle— and his eyes widened as he spun towards her again. “The cubes! Blood! The— The Blubes! Maybe he knows!! We could ask?!”

Ask wh—? Wait. That— maybe he could offer a hand? Or at least advise how to find them?

Rapidly, she patted Ulysses’ shoulder in mute agreement— that could work. That might work.

But before anything could come of their shared thought, she heard grumbling and the clunk of heels; its head swiveled towards the sound. Kallstrom. In any other situation it would be rather endearing to see the clearly exhausted Admiral stomp towards them. Glasses off, hair a mess— the remnants of sleep clinging valiantly.

“What in the bloody hell iz goin’ on?” he growled, tiredly eyeing the state of herself and Ulysses with slight distaste.

Well. Time to shatter that with too much honesty at one in the morning. “Pepper got stolen.”

His eyes immediately popped open– all sleepiness gone as his eyes suddenly blazed in the dark. “What?”

She could only give a rushed attempt at a smile that came out as a wide-eyed grimace instead; things to apologize for later.

Ulysses by this point was babbling something incoherent, and she could only respond to him in equal fervor to try and calm the frantic vampire down a tad as she hustled back into the cabin and pulled one of the cubes out of her cloak; they were put in specific pockets, and Davy Jones’ always felt rather antisocial anyways.

Again, again, again, again. Event after event with no reprieve. 

She folded her legs beneath her and landed in a criss-cross as it felt itself connect to the cube.

The last thing from the ship she heard was Kallstrom cry out, “WHAT IS GOING O–” and then it was swallowed by the sound of the sea surrounding her.

The brief all encompassing silence of the sea deafening her was appreciated— the weight of it not fully resting on her, but an echo of it compressed her projected form.

And then she appeared once more, in this shipwreck, looking at the brightly pink haired man laying in a strung together hammock— many eyes locked onto her as soon as it gathered its wits. 

“They took Cassanova,” she blurted, the first thing that came to mind that would reasonably catch his attention.

He looked over far more intently, pushing himself out of a lounge. “What?”

“A couple of cloaked figures— they took them. Out.” She pointed off in the instinctive direction of where the ship had been sailing.

“Cloaked— Did they have a marking? Were they bearing a symbol..?” he rumbled, his shock morphing into recognition and weariness. “A triangle, with a tree, wrapping a—?”

It began cutting her hands in the air— of course he would know exactly what she was talking about when she had just barely started to put the outer edges of the puzzle together— “Yes, yes. Them. They took Pepper and Cass, and we wanted to know how to track them.”

He shook his head. “Just wait.”

“J–” it paused. She had been calming herself down with structuring thoughts but that easily knocked every ounce of excess panic out of her system. 

“‘Wait’. You want us to wait,” she echoed and eyed his relaxed (if not a tad stiff) posture— realizing it was borne of the easy confidence in knowing what was happening. “You’re sure about this. Why?”

“There’s no way to track them,” he grimaced with a vague little snarl on his lip, “I’ve tried. The only way to find them is to be invited or be— well. Invited in another fashion.” Kidnapping. 

It refrained politely from hissing its displeasure of that entire concept, and instead focused on the fact that, apparently, this was an invitation. An unwelcome one, but an invitation nonetheless. Did they mean to strike both of them, or were they aiming for one, and got two birds with one arrow? 

And that brought along another question.

“Why would they want Pepper?” it questioned, rubbing where its temples would be, “I can take a guess as to why they want Cass..”

“He’s my son,” he mumbled in agreement.

“Yes, that’s why,” she gave a nod, and then gesticulated back more emphatically, “But why Pepper?” “I don’t know anything about the moth,” he shrugged, shaking his head with a grimace pulling his mouth, “except that they’re a moth. So I can’t exactly elucidate you as to why.”

“So what about the moth?” He pressed, “Is there anything you can tell me about them?”

“Ahm,” she squinted in thought. What would be relevant to— whatever the hell these people classified as; a cult? “They’re a bloodhunter– a rogue, as well as a noble.”

His head tilted sharply at that. “What House?”

Her brain whirred through conversations these past few weeks. Had they ever mentioned what their House was? Obviously it was the moth one, but … 

Her brain stumbled as it remembered a very small, and familiar mothkin, on the Red Dragon in place of their bombastic bloodhunter, wearing noble regalia, with far too quiet a countenance. 

Ah. 

God. That was right. 

She had been told by Pepper themself, a very very long time ago. It would hedge a metaphorical bet that the mothkin hadn’t figured that out yet, and she did not see a need to bring it up. Maybe one day, they could laugh together about it, but… Gods, she couldn’t even remember what they had told her… It pushed hard at the memory of the sea and of pilfered oranges shared.

The image of a flower, fuzzy in the memory of time came to mind, as did their Sentiero heritage. “..Flores?”

“Ah,” he drawled, “That’ll do it.”

“That’ll—” it stopped before she continued and pinched between her eyes. It was a very human move, but she’d found it was genuinely a good way to reassemble her thoughts. “Do you wish to elaborate on that?”

“I will, but first– what bloodhunter sect are they a part of?” He prompted.

“Mmm— The Order of the Profane Soul?” If she remembered how Pepper’s blood magic worked, from the pieces she’d seen, at the very least. Celestials aligned in blood; they shared a theme. But where was this going? 

“A particular God they worship?” 

“The Dawn Goddess– Eos?” It asked, as if he wouldn’t know Her. Good lord it was out of sorts.

“Oh you’re not getting them back.”

Hm.

She politely refrained from asking him to smash her head in with her father’s hammer.

It was not going to be asking that, because it was not a helpful thought nor question to have nor ask when— even told there was nothing to be done— her mind was in a time crunch; it would get her nowhere. It inhaled briefly in fortification as she peered at him intently. “Why.”

He dismissed her question with a little wave. “Not willingly at least. You’ll get them back in the morning.”

“I’ll get them back in the morning?” it echoed. She was starting to feel like the magic mouth spell. Shaking its head briefly it tried to assemble more than a monosyllabic question; “Will they be alright? They– They were shot. I cannot imagine that they will be kind to them.”

“They will be alive,” he assured, “Whether or not you’ll get them back in the same state is an altogether different question.”

There was. Such a dissonance in her mind, as she tried to connect the calm and assured tone to something stating her friend– and the man who was speaking’s son— might be tortured or otherwise altered, and she was supposed to be alright with it. Or perhaps not “alright” was the right word, but accepting of it, and simply bearing the roll as given.

Honestly, she should have immediately cast the spell for locating a creature the moment they had vanished from her sight, instead of alerting someone who she thought might have more information, or could possibly lend a hand; they could have learned on the go.

But that would have meant leaving one of their number behind, on this island with its cursed ways, and she wouldn’t have done that before this venture– but especially not after a day like this one.

Instead, it assumed she let her eyes fly around for the moments she processed and digested the new information; turning it over carefully within her mind as she accepted the new facts of another event today while avoiding gripping something probably important to the man and crushing it.

There was a disgruntled sigh and his tone of voice turned pointed. “Stop panicking, girl.”

“I’m not,” she parried sharply. And she wasn’t. There was nothing but that squirming, writhing sensation of anxiety— the type that would worm its way handily into her bones and rest there, all the while turning its intestines into a gordian knot. But not panic.

It instead had started staring at Davy Jones, sitting in his hammock and felt a tendril of distaste lash out from within the wyrms turning her insides to a furnace. Sitting there, and not worried about his own son. Not visibly or in tone, at the very least; the mind was always a different story. She normally would not fault someone for that, but the fact of the matter was this was his child. No matter if he was to be returned alive, the fact of the matter was that they had been stolen, along with her friend and crewmate, and he sat there placidly. Not sharing in her worry. 

She violently held her tongue from what she thought of that, but she could not hide her expression as her pupils had turned to slits.

The expression of her feelings drew a frustrated scowl from the other as he asked— “What do you want from me?”

She crinkled her eyes in the facsimile of a human smile. “Nothing, I suppose.”

It snapped the connection with a bit more umph than necessary and opened her eyes as the blood cube in her hands’ open connection offered another chance of explaining.

‘Later.’  It deemed, sliding the blood cube into a pocket of her pants, and looked at its crew, or more accurately those awake at present moment. That of which consisted of Ulysses pacing a hole into the wood of the deck, the ship creaking something in his general area, and catching the tail end of Soleil talking to Kallstrom, explaining the situation to focused eyes— which upon seeing her starting to stand, widened considerably.

“Ah!” he crowed out, “You’re alive!”

“Just about,” she creaked out, smoothing the displeased ruffling of her feathers with a hand.

“Thought you had died,” he wryly mused as Ulysses sped over to her with frantic eyes.

“So what do we do!? Do we go fetch Abaddon? Do we just go?!”

“The verdict is, ‘to wait until morning’,” she clicked out, definitively.

The look on his face suggested that she had instead asked him to smash her head in with the hammer. “What??” 

“There is apparently ‘nothing we can do’,” she explained, valiantly keeping its own frustration to the absolute minimum she could wrangle, “so we must wait it out. They’ll be alive. Whether they’ll be in the same state or not, that is not guaranteed.”

“That…” he looked about in a vague horror, “is definitely reassuring.”

“Quite,” she grimaced politely.

The silence in the moments that followed was only slightly broken by a quiet, displeased grunt from Kallstrom.

Morning. What did that entail? Five hours? Two? What counted as morning, and when should she fetch Abaddon so they can go find Pepper— ‘advice’ be damned?

The blood was already drying, to boot, if she wanted to get much of any lifeline from it. So it was either now, or listen to Davy Jones.

It inhaled deeply but quietly, and released gently.

Waiting. It meant waiting.

“In the meantime,” she started, watching three sets of eyes snap towards her, “I feel as though I should perhaps make some coffee.”

Kallstrom raised an eyebrow at her and gestured to the stars. “At this hour?”

“Of all people,” it said, tilting its head amicably, “I didn’t think you’d be one to complain about it.”

“Oh, far from it,” he snorted, following her and the other two into the galley, “I’m surprised at you. Owlin you may be, you seem to prefer the daytime schedule.”

“Diurnal, if you want to get into specifics about my ‘type’,” she grimaced at the phrase, “Day and night don’t matter to me in that way.”

“So you could flip it?” 

“If I needed to, or seriously pressed, yes?” A sneaking suspicion slid through her feathers as to— “Why?”

“No reason,” he hummed.

She gently blinked. Why did her brain immediately turn towards possible implementation of psychological torture methods?

Probably because it was somewhere along that line for him, she thought fondly.

As she slid from one distraction to another, it gently tuned out the others' discussions as white noise, and fixated firmly on the process of making coffee. It was always a task and a half on her brain that recoiled at the taste of it.

The coffee beans themselves aren’t too big of an issue; the smell not too overpowering if she kept her neck tilted at a slight angle, and then grinding them in the mortar and pestle in a cupboard she’d retrieved. Grinding it down and down and down until it was nothing more than fine dust was her goal to achieve, and once it was done, she put it into a large-ish copper pot. Fetching some fresh water, and sugar for this particular method, she poured it in and set it on the stove to start the boil. Normally she’d just set a firebolt to the little area she needed, and set her kettle down happily while keeping an eye on the water’s actual temperature, but she was always extra careful when it came to this particular beverage. A watched pot never boils, but with the rate at which she zoned out with ‘the everything’, it boiled faster than she liked. 

She poured itself a cup and then looked back up at the table. Kallstrom was already making a break for the pot, and she only moved one of the cups closer to him. 

“Want some?” She offered to Sol, who gave a nod.

“Sure, I could go for one. Already up, as it were.”

It huffed an amused sound and then tilted its head towards Ulysses in question.

His face scrunched up in distaste at the silent question. “No thanks. I.. don’t like coffee.”

“Ah,” she chuckled before taking a sip with her next mumble, “a man after my own heart.”

Coffee… was horrible. She understood alcohol dependency better than she understood this particular brand of caffeine addiction the rich and middle class tended to have. The taste was bitter like a loved one’s disappointment and did not smell much better than that— making her quite nauseous in all honesty. Adding milk and sugar or any mix of things did nothing for the taste, less bitter, sure, but making it taste worse more often than not, and that was a feat and a half. But damn was it good for making every bone feel like it was trying to escape her flesh.

“Wait, you—” Ulysses’ brain seemed to break for a moment before shaking it quickly and going back on the attack. “Wait, hold on, you don’t like coffee?”

“Nope,” she clicked, grimacing at the extreme bitterness that fluffed her feathers out, “Not at all.”

“More for me then?” Kallstrom pressed.

“If that’s what you would like, then please,” she gestured gently towards the pot, “by all means.”

He eyed her suspiciously, and then promptly took the rest of the pot with an even squintier look. If he kept that up his prescription was going to need to be upped. Regardless, the admiral made his way back to his corner where he drank his horrid caffeine. It did not look to see if he added anything to it, she was sick to her gizzard as it was.

Meanwhile, Ulysses squinted up at her, watching her feathers flare with clear disbelief. “If you don’t like coffee, why are you drinking it??”

“Tea is soothing,” it hummed, closing her eyes as she sipped some more, “I wish to be tense.”

There was a quiet and tired chuckle from Soleil as she drank her own cup, tail flicking.

Now began the waiting game.

***

It was close to two hours and 12 minutes before something actually happened. Soleil was wearing her pjs by this point— well that was a slight fib; she’d been wearing her pajamas since the cleric had emerged from the Blood Cube, and she was now simply sleepily resting by Eno, its robe draped over her. Kallstrom had returned to bed quite a while back, deeming them fine enough to deal with Pepper’s return, whatever state that may be. Ulysses had been pacing a hole into the deck of their poor lady for about an hour, his steps on the wood clicking in time to the headache that clung fiercely to her skull. Then about ten minutes after the hour mark, the ship had responded by creaking warningly under the vampire’s feet; so Ulysses was leaning on the wall connected to the captain’s cabin as the deafening thunderclap sounded.

Snapping to attention and getting to her feet was such a blur, the blood had absolutely left her head at its speed. She didn’t even have a moment to process who had appeared before two lumps were tossed in her general direction.

Not even a moment of hesitation passed by as she lunged and caught something warm and soft from being tossed unceremoniously, and quite possibly harmfully, onto the ship’s deck. Pulling whatever it was further into her arms had her balk as she peered down.

Looking down in horror at the fact she was holding both Pepper and Casanova, unconscious, bruised, bleeding, and one of Cass’ horns being completely broken.

“I ‘ave had it!” crowed the intruder, “Vith you two ignorant, damnable fools! Ve offer you greatness, glory, a chance to be a book in the library instead of an insignificant scrap of paper, and you ignore it like the blind idiots you are! If you vant to die vith those unworthy, zose that will end in anonymity, zat is none of our business anymore!! You insignificant whELPS—”

As it listened continuously to this man, daring to insult its friend like he had any authority in judging their worth, she felt an inhuman explosion of fury burst from her as she held softly beating hearts. As if he had personally gotten to know their smile or their laugh, the softness of their hands and words, or how they strove to do good despite everything that has happened to them. 

Get out. Get out get out get out get out get out get out get out get out get out get out

GET. OUT.

Pulling together what was left in her energy to rapidly tie the bones of a banishment spell in the space of her hand, tossing it violently fast at the masked man for daring to presume his command on the deck of the ship.

The energy of a counterspell was flung back in lightning fast riposte. It was clearly a reflexive movement of sensing magic being aimed at him, but it nonetheless snapped his attention from monologuing his displeasure at his own invasion all the same.

Attention that momentarily rested silently, but heavily upon them.

Quite suddenly though, the magic in the air began coiling threateningly fast, as if a coral reef snake pulled itself to attention— clearly, the intruder did not take kindly at the attempted banishment.

The magic lashed forwards as all three spellcasters took advantage of the thick tension— but Enososin herself was the fastest on the draw.

Looping her palm into the air like she was wrapping yarn for crocheting she pulled from the churning pool— as it did, it felt the sharp spikes in its hand as Guiding Bolt was thrown into the sudden frantic swirl of energies ready to burst open.

The streak of light hurtled forward, swinging around to slam straight into the man’s chest— shattering into sharp spikes of light, leaving little holes in the man’s flowing robes.

As the invader reeled, from light and damage, it made a quick symbol of faith in the air and cobbled up a small magic symbol of defense near Sol, causing her to shine briefly from the magic settling in before disappearing into a thin translucent shimmer.

The opponent shook his head vigorously and wind whipped as it solidified into something sickly; large snakes were sent in the group’s direction, and while she dodged, Ulysses ducked, Soleil got caught straight on by a multitude of snakes— patterns signifying poison as their fangs sunk into her flesh.

There was a brief moment of Soleil’s eyes flashing in recognition and attempted to pull them off before their could sink their fangs into her, before any venom could take, her teeth gritted— quickly trading off instead trying to steady herself and work through the poison, but it was already too late as it watched the sea elf’s muscles visibly lock up in paralysis.

The man was not done with his assault however, as he now looked specifically towards it, glint in the glass of his masked eye, and made a beckoning gesture with his hand. 

There was a violent pull against her body, pulling her to move forwards. Oh. This part was familiar. She gripped both Pepper and Cass in her arms protectively as she resisted as much as it could, twisting her muscles with the blood flow, only moving ten feet or so, but that was still far too much give in her eyes— she let out a displeased screech towards the masked man that shook the boards beneath her claws.

The glint in the glass grew sharper, as if in delight and the accented voice once more echoed from the confines of his mask. “YOU. You are strong.”

“Come here girl,” he continued, the smile underneath the mask loud and clear as he hissed venom into his tone. “I vant a piece of your BEAK.”

She finally looked at their attacker properly, from boot tip to hat brim; the dark tones of his dressings blended well with the bright accents on his chest, trailing on his robe and arms. The key detail, however, was that this man was dressed as a doctor of death as a beaked mask’s eyes shining bright in the low light of the stars stared back at her. 

It shifted its eyes to slits. “You don’t impress me.”

“Vhy vould I need to impress a speck of dust?” 

As if that were an ‘insult’ it could take to heart; this world was her home. Of course she’d be dust in the wind one day. “At least I am of the Earth; you smell of something ripped from the void.”

He laughed heartily. A missing piece she did not have. “You have no idea.”

“Nor do I wish to learn,” it hissed. 

“Vhat happened to mercy?”  The Doctor mocked, the false concern dripping like venom as a sneer made its way to the front. “To saving every soul?”

How dare he. How dare he? As if the bodies in her hands, precious, bloodied, and unconscious, were not its highest priority. To try and do whatever guilt-trip he was trying to pull, to try and say that because she had no wish to have him anywhere near her, that she would not save who she could? As if getting the one who had harmed them so plentifully away was not among her top concerns. She was not in a state to think of anything but her desire to protect right now, as he threatened something so dear.

It did not care about learning what made this man like this, when they were much better things to be prioritizing, and it hissed with feathers stuck out like icicles in the night. He gestured grandly, as if exhibiting a performance for them all and chuckled darkly. “You are just like your Father.” “Good.”

Once more gathering the ever familiar divine energy, this time, she pulled something a lot stronger, and a lot more energy absorbing than a few sharp bolts; a Celestial made of Light and magicks, pulling from her wish to defend she summoned a creature to attack for her.

More bright light, like the sun decided to instead arise on the deck of their ship instead of peek over the horizon, formed in the air next to her before shifting like liquid and growing larger and larger— until a vaguely humanoid shape evolved into something bearing armor, burning with light within as the final dregs of the spell formed a wickedly curved metal bow in its hand, and the Summoned pulled back the glowing hot string as magic coalesced into arrows.

Ulysses in those moments stolen, using both herself and the Summoned as a distraction, had been making a wide circling move around the masts of the ship— and now promptly came within gunshot range and shot at the back of the Doctor’s head with his pistol, blasting a hole through cloth and flesh; swiftly disengaging as only a rogue could before the man could think to turn around and return the favor. 

But instead of blood, or anything liquid, what flowed out of the now broken mask from the hole in the back of his head was a sickly gas, spilling threateningly the same hue as the accents upon his robe.

This man favored his poisons.

“What the heck is going on— my GOD!” cried an unfamiliar old man. Half expecting another intruder, it turned its head in apprehension, but upon turning its gaze it realized who the voice emitted from; Janglin, looking horrified.

The horror turned into rapid tugging of his instruments off their attachments and a startled stance, as the bard began to play a stumblingly rapid-paced tune; The air once again began to twist and hum with the new addition of a different spellcaster in the deck.

As Janglin gathered himself, Enososin pulled a little more magic from the air into a more stable flowing form–– placing her hand firmly onto Cass; his heart had started slowing as she held him, and that frightened her. Keeping them safe with her body had its downsides, and that was the jostling. The magic zoomed through her hand into his body as she felt that magic wrap inside his blood, keeping it pumping the heart steadily. Stabilized, no longer on the verge of death, she changed the tune of the magic ever so slightly to heal what had been damaged internally as well with a whispered word. 

The Summoned, while she was healing, had been waiting for the moment to strike, moving ever so slightly on deceptively light feet, and taking the second that the Doctor was partially distracted by looking at Janglin and loosed two blazing arrows rapidly into the man’s chest— striking him clean through with some sickening sounding cracks as the arrows dispersed; leaving the wound open.

Soleil started to move once again, her eyes blazing with a quietly furious whisper of; “You motherfucker– oh I’m back.” 

“Oh I’m back,” she repeated, with a quiet voracious glee in the undercurrent of her words. Soleil then pulled her weapon of choice from off her back— the trident seeming to exude the same glee its user contained, and a pulse of water magic from her trident came from the side of the ship and slammed the man as a wall of force into the railing of the ship.

Soleil looked triumphant for a brief moment before something seemed to cross her mind, eyes flicking at the Doctor and then to his feet; Sol looked down with an exhausted, but amused air as she whispered. “You could do something so funny right now.” 

The ship creaked her sly agreement beneath their feet.

Ah. Yeah, that would be rather funny.

The Doctor, now rather damp and body language shifted towards annoyed about it, he turned towards Ulysses, who was right by the bow. Ulysses’ eyes widened in the moments that passed quickly and rapid recognition as the Doctor raised up an arm. He pointed at the vampire while his arm grew bright with magical light, and then brighter still; the metallic substance that decorated it emptied into his palm and then blasted through the air and shot Ulysses through the chest with the force of a cannon shot.

The desperation that flashed in the vampire’s eyes told the cleric all she needed to know on how much damage that had just dealt.

“I am SICK. And TIRED of zis useless jibber-jabber fight!” The Doctor hissed at the lot of them, gripping his fist and pulling it back like someone was challenging him to a bar fight instead, and adjusted his feet to brace for a blow.

“Give me somezhing good!” He howled, and looked at Ulysses with a twist of his masked face. “You look strong, boy. Give me a fight.”

Like a call and response, Ulysses took the man up on the challenge. There was a twist of magic that swirled sharply, jaggedly, as Ulysses rolled his shoulders and tapped one of them in a rhythm; another gleaming glow surrounded his entire arm, and seemed to center in his throat. The light grew glaring as Ulysses’ magic exploded out of his mouth and through the air in a blindingly lightning filled breath.

The lightning latched onto the Doctor with extreme prejudice as the dampness of his clothes did nothing to protect him from the current, ricocheting visibly through muscles, metal and flesh.

Ulysses winked at the Doctor, gave a little salute, and then dropped off the side of the boat with a small thump; clinging to the side then, as no splash sounded off. 

Janglin snapped to attention as the magic swished around and he reached for one of his own spells and plucked an addition to his tune— and the sound of something shattering echoed like a small blast centered on the Doctor.

The plague Doctor growled in frustrated pain and ripped off the fabric and metal combination that once guarded his identity, but now hindered his sight more than helped. It revealed a man– humanoid for sure, but she couldn’t tell the race; the ears were still covered. But what truly drew the eye was the metallic replacements in his face that glimmered in the night, and was etched with runes that highlighted the manic blaze in the Doctor’s eyes.

“Now zis! Zis is interesting.”

Fantastic; he seems to get off on fighting. Or possibly just being electrocuted. Glad to be a contribution, sir, it thought sarcastically.

Pulling her thoughts from sarcasm, the seconds continued to tick by as she focused now on Pepper’s faint heartbeat. It was a familiar movement now, quickly stabilizing them and pulling the active pool of magic to her, gently infusing it into the moth’s skin and flesh as the healing spell  was murmured underneath the chaos.

The Summoned avenger once more took its chance to fire a volley of arrows, striking him in the side— the momentum from the sheer might behind the arms that loosed the arrows, forced the Doctor to stumble and reveal his back to the archer, where another arrow crashed into with extreme power. 

As that happened she adjusted both Cassanova and Pepper to one arm— watching Pepper instinctively clutch the tiefling to them— and picked up her hammer from the start of the fight. Preparation, just in case. 

Soleil’s eyes narrowed as the push and pull of magic once more leaned in her favor, and the crackle in the air gave a brief warning of what the elven duo were joining forces to do. The blinding flash of lightning exploded in its vision once more as Soleil released a bolt that she sent out and shot through the Doctor. The spell should have trailed off the ship but seemed to have stopped at the man himself.

The Doctor had caught it.

She felt the collective recognition ricochet through the entire above deck crew as they all looked at his arm.

He chuckled menacingly, a grin stretching from ear to ear— in the sense that it was supposed to be interpreted as a grin; it was far more accurate to think of it as a hyena about to bite. “Did z’you think? I am not smart enough.. to develop my own prosthetic vith magical-catching capabilities!?”

“That seems like something incredibly stupid,” Soleil grumbled darkly. To which part, it had no clue, but Eno could only snort in shared exhausted amusement.

“Your bird friend.. Ze one you fought in ze Church, ja?” he questioned jauntily. Far too jauntily. “His prosthetic.. Iz my design.~”

If you dare hurt my friend, I’m going to shove you into the ocean and keep you there long after you stop moving.

Taking a deep breath, she gently pulled the barely leashed fury back to the side. Work with it, not against it, with it not against. She spread her wings a little lower, showing the patterns more threateningly instead of releasing a battle cry and slamming the Doctor into sentient planks. This man was doing everything in his capabilities to make sure she stayed pissed the hell off at him without even trying too hard, wasn’t he?

“Of course,” he continued with an ecstatic shout, “I can vield it much better!”

He moved his hand like he was holding something heavy, and turned the lightning bolt into the sky with a graceful but powerful toss upwards.

Soleil looked up at the lightning bolt cast into the sky with a weariness that only other spellcasters could truly understand. “I am fuckin’ too tired for this,” she hissed quietly. “Do I hear.. A chicken? I think I do. He’s going ‘bawk-bawk’ instead of cooking alive as he should.”

Her headache pulsed violently. Why?

“You vere entertaining;” the Doctor continued, clapping hands muffled by the glove he wore, and interrupting her wanderings of thought as he turned his face towards where Ulysses still probably clung to the sides, “let me guess zough. You are going to launch me into ze sea, boy? Going to attempt to vhirlpool me vith your ship, little vampire?”

He shook his head with a smirk and turned his eyes back upon the small group of them, raising his voice to be heard by all of them, should their hearing have been lost in the few minutes they had fought for some inexplicable reason.

“I am going to offer you an accord, meine kleinen Freunde..!” he announced. “You can have your stupid moth and ve can end zis here!”

“Or,” he emphasized with no small amount of glee, “continue fighting me! You might have a chance at killing me, after all…~”

“Vhat say you?” 

He opened his arms with each option presented, gums slipping into his hyena grin.

“Glory or mercy?”

Enososin gazed upon the doctor, using every spare scrap of medicinal knowledge it had to determine what in God’s creation this man’s game was. Luckily, an absurd amount of injuries in your younger years led into a pretty steady hand on what exactly the damage dealt was. 

All in all, the Doctor was rough. Clothes ripped and torn and doused in water, crackling with leftover electricity, and bleeding from multiple places that could not be helpful for cognitive functions. But the casual way he held himself, ready for an encore, told of a firm grip upon his health— it was that or a bluff, but there was not even an ounce of strain she could sense from voice nor posture; he was nowhere near being done, and they had far too rough a day to be able to keep up with their limited amount of spells.

Unless she started going in close for the combat, with deadly intention.

“Get off our damn ship,” she rumbled.

The doctor looked towards her and laughed, tilting his head as he peered at the bodies in her grip. “Godspeed, litl’bug! I hope you have fun back in Kingston~”

Eno blinked a few times in response to the jolly little warning— because that was absolutely what that tone was. What had that been for…? 

Had something happened to their parents?

“Oh, and if z’you reconsider!” He took Casanova’s horn out of his pocket and threw it at her feet, clattering loudly on the wooden planks. “Vell. Seek ze Secrets.”

An echoing thunderclap; the portal reappeared. He stepped into it. Gone.

There was a moment of tension, even after he left. The air thick with apprehension of a falsehood, before a break settled the area. Like too much heat in pottery with hairline fractures; it broke gently. The cleric let out an exhausted and frustrated sigh at the tension’s dissipation. Rude was not even covering the very least of her grievances with the man who presumed to come onto their ship, and it was not about to spare the brain power to list them out right now.

Readjusting the unconscious cargo in her arms to no longer be at an awkward angle for her arm (comfortable for them, not so for her twinging muscles) it realized it could actually take the moment to actually set them down. Gently propping up Cassanova and Pepper on one of the ship’s walls, she pulled the medkit from it being attached to her hip.

“Ok,” she breathed, “Let’s fix you two up.”

As she started pursuing physical injuries, prodding gently for open wounds, disinfecting and wrapping where she could, Janglin had rushed over and sat next to her, fiddling a gentle tune as he played a healing aura for everyone on the topdeck.

Soleil had sat on the floor next to it as the two avians began working. Only a few moments later, it heard some clomping and the sound of a winded vampiric wood elf sitting down next to Sol.

Small stitches and bruises were patched, a dislocation or two were righted (with no wake up from Casanova, which was in actuality far more worrying than the injury itself), and everything that could be physically fixed, had been attended to with as much that could be provided. Only a brief time later they were as healed as they could without resting, where time and sleep would deal with emotional or psychological damage.

She mentioned as much to the small grouping of her still barely awake crewmates.

“Well,” Ulysses mumbled, “now I get to have my last hour of trance. At, like— 3 in the morning.”

A small puff of laughter from herself and a hum of amused agreement from Soleil at the comment. There was a moment of inactivity as all of them seemed to mentally fortify themselves to move once more— Eno especially took a deep breath; Pulling both unconscious victims up into her arms again, she made her way back into the Captain’s quarters— followed by a couple of disgruntled sounds of Soleil and Ulysses pulling each other up and trotting after her— placing them both in the bed as gingerly as she could.   “Pepper’s safe?” Soleil questioned finally, eyeing their sleeping form with concern heavy in her expression if not in voice or stance.

“Aside from any further attempts to snatch them from under our noses again,” it replied, making a brief check behind her at the closed door, “yes. They’re safe.”

As her head was turned behind her though, the both of them met each other’s eyes, and looked at each other in shared spellcasting exhaustion. It was a toss to the wind, but the cleric decided it was worth it to give the attempt a try. “Want to stay?”

“I’m going to go back to bed,” Soleil replied, shaking her head after the fact with the mere notion of another idea popping into her head. “Or just slam coffee– I don’t know.” “Nope, go to sleep,” it chided in amusement, churring a small noise of fondness at the exhausted tilt of the woman’s shoulders at the concession, “Go. Bed.”

Enososin would rather the woman sleep in her own bed, comfortable and safe— weapons within reach and a shout or explosion away from summoning them, than try to sleep, possibly stay awake, and more than likely paranoid within the group. 

This crew had more than a few suspicious and paranoid folk, and the best way to ease that, was simply to let them have that safety to fall back on. “My bones hurt.”

“Rest in the Captain’s cabin– with us,” Ulysses chimed in after Soleil’s partial non-sequitur, “I would rather us not be separated. In case… Y’know.” “Y’know, if they kidnap— another person tonight? I think! I deserve to– t’just —” she made a violently flippant gesture with both of her hands. Point received, if not articulated. “I don’t know, do they play poker or something?”

“Judging by how Cass is missing a horn; uhm. No,” Ulysses declared, the horror in his voice being overlaid by the heavy sarcasm, “they do not play poker.” “That’s just an average night at my old family house,” Soleil waved off with a dismissive shake, “it’s fine. They’ve probably got poker.”

Oh. It politely refrained from blinking in surprise. That was a small cannon shell, wasn’t it?

Ulysses apparently agreed, but far more vocally as the trailing horror won over the sarcastic defense. “That is a.. Concerning..?!” 

Soleil was having none of it, however, as she leaned forward and sleepily pressed a finger against Ulysses’ lips. “Shshh.”

As much as she was now curious herself, and more than a bit concerned in the case of the family possibly looking for their gorgeously talented lunar sorceress, Eno agreed with the falling over woman; time to be quiet for a while. “Alright, Sol, it is time for bed. C’mon.”

There was the quietest murmur of “I don’t know.” She wished it knew what Soleil was specifically referring to, as she’d love to lend a hand, but for now, it was simply going to be filed away for hypothetical later talks.

It murmured gently once more. “Get in.” Soleil looked at her with exhaustion and gave a brief nod. Crawling in near Pepper, but not close enough to interfere with Pepper’s unconscious death grip on Cass, Sol hit the cushioning press of the mattress– and Enososin could pretty much see the light turn off in Soleil’s head. Absolutely conked out upon touchdown.

Meanwhile, Ulysses once more got on the floor.

“Aaaand no you don’t,” it mumbled, reaching for Ulysses’ hand to gently tug him upwards.

“No– no–” he shied away from her claws and it let her hand drop back to its side, “let me be on the floor.”

It was too tired to argue. If the man wanted to sleep on the floor, so be it. “Then I am joining you on the floor,” she exhaled, laying down on the floor next to Ulysses.

“No, you are not..!” He protested, as if his words would pause her movements.

“Yes, I am~” 

“Get on the bed..! No you—” she curled up with her arm as a pillow and listened to the vampire get even more exasperated, as she got more and more comfortable; “no! Eno!” 

She opened an eye she hadn’t realized she’d closed. “What?”

Ulysses furiously pointed at the bed, his exasperation mingling with distress. “Get in the bed!”

“Nope,” she clicked the p, “You’re down here.”

He stared at her in pure exhausted exasperation. “Gods, you are frustrating.”

She squinted up her eyes in amusement. Welcome to the club, Ulysses, you’ll find her caretakers already here and having had the same emotion with her at least once. Somewhere, there were muffins as compensation.

“Get in bed,” he hissed, trying to get his point across to deaf ears without waking the crew already passed out, “you’ve wasted so much magic today!”

“Honk shoo mimimi,” she murmured for effect as she reclosed her eyes.

“I have slept in worse places, I assure you! This is comfortable for me!”

It was more than fine sleeping down here, and in fact could probably stretch out more than she could in a bed of any size.

“Honk shoo.”

There was a silence long enough as she laid there that she assumed Ulysses had given it up and simply accepted that she was down here with him, and she let herself begin to drift off.

“If I get in the bed,” he said, snapping her once more back to awakeness, with an added startled blinking awake as a bonus, “will you get in the bed?”

“Yes,” she replied. If he wanted to, that is.

Ulysses sighed huffily and got onto the foot of the bed, looking down at her, waiting for her to make good on her word.

Ah, and she was rather comfortable too. Ah well. She got up with a small exhale of effort, and crawled carefully into a small space not taken by the lovers or Sol’s starfish sprawl. Pretty much just doing her best not to take up too much of the bed. However, she was not ignorant to the tactic of someone coaxing another into a better state before going back into the sub-par condition themself.

So it laid down, with its wing stretched out and resting on Ulysses. The look of frustrated chagrin told her all she needed to know in her prediction, and that he knew if tried to leave again, she’d just go back with him.

“Ughhh… you are infuriating,” she heard as his words drifted. Exhaustion stealing him in equal measure as falling into his elvish trance.

If being infuriating keeps people safe, it thought, as she let itself drop into sleep, then I shall endeavor to be the most annoying owlin in the entire archipelago.

Prologue; One - Two - Three - Four

High Seas; It Begins - Something's Wrong - Blood in the Water pt. 1 - Blood in the Water pt. 2 (here!)