AmongHeroes

Tides of Dusk: A Piratical Tale of Fantasy

The Dusk Skate cut through the slight chop, her bow hissing melodically as she moved along the southeastern coast of Jamaica, and ever closer to the Wicked City of Port Royal. The sun was no more than five glasses away from setting, and the ship would be safely moored at the North Docks before then if the crew was smart about their work. Laden with pilfered cocoa, tobacco, logwood, sugar, coffee, and Spanish silver, the Dusk Skate would arrive to the victorious sounds of musket-fire, and the traders of the port would bend their backs to unload the precious cargo.

The king would get his tenth, and then the governor after him. Those in the town that had backed the voyage would receive their investment’s return, and other debts and kindnesses would be paid as well. Even after the share for the Crown, the governorship, and the investors, there would still be a sizable portion for the crew of the Dusk Skate; a sum no less than one-hundred thousand pounds, sterling.

Captain Thomas Lightfoot smiled and thought to himself that the Spanish ports of Maracaibo had been exceptionally generous. He stood against the starboard railing of the aft castle, studying the growing outline of Fort Charles still some distance away. It was a sight he never tired of seeing; that of his home coming ever clearer into view after a long and arduous voyage at sea. Well, perhaps home was too strong a word for Port Royal, for truly the Skate was his home, his castle, and his refuge. It was the only piece of livable property he owned, and he loved her more than any mansion or villa he had yet seen upon land. In fact he had yet to meet a woman he would not trade for the well-being of his ship, and he often doubted he ever would.

The fair wind pulled at Thomas’ loose hair, as if the sea herself was eager for him and his ship to make landfall before the sun was to set, and his smiled freshened. He adored the feeling of the free wind in his hair, and contrary to the fashions of the day he never wore hats. In fact, it was a rare time that he dressed as a captain at all, favoring basic linen shirts, sashes of tied fabric about his waist, breeches, and cavalier boots. His only distinguishable adornment was often only his brace of pistols that were holstered in a leather strap across his chest, and a long dagger held in the small of his back. Thomas was a man known by his reputation, and not his flamboyant dress--as was favored by some buccaneer captains--and he very much liked it that way.

In his mind his humble dress gave him more credence with his crew, though he knew not for certain whether this notion held any truth. Thomas shifted his gaze to his ship as he thought of such things, and he looked about to the men and women that worked with practiced efficiency to make the Dusk Skate ready for mooring. They were all hard and salty individuals in their own way, and Thomas felt a sense of pride watching them as they handled his beloved ship. Three in particular gave him a strong sense of satisfaction, the first among them being the helmsman, Jax.

Though the man was new to Thomas, his reputation as a true sea-artist had preceded him. It had taken little time for Jax to prove he could pilot a ship under sail as well as any Thomas had seen, if not better. Personally he knew little else about Jax other than his skillset, but he did know that he loved the Dusk Skate, perhaps even bordering Thomas’ own adoration for the ship, though he would never admit such a thing to any living soul.

The second among the crew was his first mate, Nicolette. He looked across the top deck for the devilishly beautiful woman, but amongst the bustle Thomas could not make her out. He had to laugh at the circumstances for her securing a berth with his crew, for it ranked up with the most brazen demand anyone had ever given him. He had instantly respected her for that, and he had allowed her to join the crew that very moment she had accosted him aboard the Skate some months past. He had told himself then that she would either win the day, or be surely raped and killed by the crew when he was away. The woman had proven her salt in spades, and Thomas worried for the reckless man that would dare cross her, should he find himself floating in the sea with his testicles tied about his neck as shark bait.

Speaking of deadly damsels, Thomas thought as he traced his eyes up the main mast, to the crow’s nest. Though she was only an outline in the diminishing light of the day, he thought he could make out the glow of Antonia’s emerald eyes even high in her perch. Now that is a story. Not many knew the truth about his securing the employ of the exotic woman with the eagle-eyes and burning wit, and he intended to keep it that way. Thomas enjoyed a keen level of joy from the abounding speculations about the nickname Silver Fish that she had bestowed upon him. The guesses ran the gamut from plausible to outlandish, but the truth of the matter was that the crew knew Antonia to be an excellent set of eyes upon the mast, and a cunning pair of hands when on the ground. That was all that truly mattered.

A single cannon shot from Fort Charles rang out, heralding the arrival of the Dusk Skate to Port Royal, and bringing Thomas back to the moment. He moved from the railing to stand beside Jax at the tiller. He gave the man a hearty slap on the back.

“You’ll be neck deep in rum and skirts within a glass my friend,” Thomas said so only the sea-artist could hear. The grin of unbridled joy upon Thomas’ face could be seen across the main deck, and he called out to his first mate, “Ms. Beauchamp, a cannon salute to answer the good chaps of Fort Charles!”

Thomas, still smiling, cupped his hands about his mouth, and looked up to the crow’s nest, “Ahoy above, stand by for shot!”

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

It's supposed to be a silver blade.

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Atticus looked over his shoulder at the naked and resplendent Raleigh, watching with growing irritation as the dryad received a scarf from the delicate hands of Siya. “Fucking tree-hugger,” he muttered to himself, his eyes glowing dully in the darkness of the cave. Perhaps it had not been such a keen idea to invite Raleigh onto this excursion. Atticus had long thought that what had transpired between them belonged in the past, but in truth he realized that perhaps he was the one whose emotions were still raw. This realization did nothing to improve his sudden change in mood, and the tattooed creatures on his body laughed and mocked his discomfort, with even a few of the angels breaking their stoic demeanor to jeer at him.

Turning back to look to the small figure of Reginald Hoyle walking before him, Atticus tried to thrust his unusual pettiness from his mind. He tried to focus on controlling his emotion before being introduced to Hoyle’s only living relative. From what the werewolf had told him, his sister had been in hiding for hundreds of years following the last hunting of the Teachglach Mac Tíre. She was a creature unaccustomed to the ways of the humanistic interaction that characterized much of the Veiled World, and she adhered to the more ancient and animalistic natural laws of the werewolf tribes; laws that stated that if one was offended, that individual was within their right to rip out the throat of the offender. Atticus felt himself rub at his neck involuntarily.

He was just about to ask a question of Hoyle when they turned a corner into a anteroom, similarly cut and adorned as the one they had first appeared in. What he saw inside of the room froze him cold in his tracks. There, standing unnaturally still, was an elderly woman, adorned in a patchwork of rough furs and animal skins. Her silver hair fell in two long braids down either side of her neck, and though she was of advanced age, she still exuded an aura of strength and prowess. It was not the woman that froze Atticus in place however, rather the two creatures that flanked her.

On either side of the elderly woman stood two other female figures, both unnaturally beautiful, with fair skin, and long, tangled wet hair that hung to their ankles. They wore sheer dresses of blue silk, and their large green eyes looked with a sense of mischief towards the arriving group. One of the creatures held a hand to the old woman’s ear, and was silently whispering or singing into it, while the other held a long, thin knife to the woman’s throat.

Atticus’ eyes widened. These creatures were most assuredly Nixie, water spirits of the north, and recognizable to him through Henry’s own stories and descriptions. What they were doing here was beyond reckoning to him, and he could not but stand and stare at the unusual sight.

“Aislinn…?” Reginald Hoyle said, his voice cracking with fear as he looked to his sister.

A menacing smile crept across the angelic face of the Nixie that held the knife to Aislinn’s throat. Her mouth opened, and the voice that came forth was both equally delicious and revolting to Atticus’ ears.

“You will pay for your sins, wolf-father,” she said to Hoyle before shifting her emerald eyes to Henry. “And you, Näck, will pay for yours as well.”

Without another word, the girl drew the blade across Aislinn’s throat.

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andastra said
I think I may jump in to grab Nestor I have an idea brewing if that's okay with you clumsy

Sorry, I had my post written before I saw this, but catching Nestor might prove to be difficult...lol

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Library of Alexadria

Thousands of years had passed within the walls of the Library, and the Anubi had not once been challenged at their post. Ancient magic, dormant since the very day the god Set had sung the spell upon the giant stonework demons, came to life in an instant. A shower of dust rained down from the Anubi’s bodies as they their limbs became fluid, and for a time their menacing forms were obscured by the cloud. The curved Khopesh blades flashed from their sheaths with a speed unnatural for their size.

One of the Anubi rocked back with the sudden blow of hellish ice as it danced across his muzzle and face. A rumbling growl filled the library, and the creature moved with preternatural deftness to right his fall, managing to stop himself with a firm planting of a clawed foot. Anger flashed in the now burning eyes of the Anubi, and it reached out to grasp the hell hound and ice-demon firmly in his hand before flinging them like so much chaff into the library stacks.

The second creature took up a stance of readiness, the giant sword curving across his head like the tail of a scorpion. Glowing orange eyes assessed the attackers, affixing almost instantly upon the hulking figure of a Giant, ugly and menacing amidst the others. The Anubi lunged ahead, the deadly sword swinging in wide arcs before him.

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Dead Cruiser said
Just to be certain, the statues are outside of the library?

They're inside the library, guarding an entrance to the labyrinth of vaults beneath the library.

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Clumsywordsmith said
Nah, the cronies of Set -- the big statues -- are mere lackeys. The guardians are the ones we don't want to meet.Leastways, that's how I interpreted things in AH's initial post.

You are correct in this assessment. I will say however that I have yet to respond as these "lackeys" and they will very much be a handful. In fact, there might have to be a little editing that needs to be done before everyone just assumes the statues can be pulverized so quickly.

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Hey everyone, how are we doing today? Anyone have a post in the works? I'll be trying to post either tonight or tomorrow to keep the party rolling.

Also, I'm not sure who all is a fan of Frank Miller, but I saw this and had to share my geek happiness....

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Good morning all! How are we doing?

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Yeah, wtf? Why is everyone getting naked lol?