AmongHeroes

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Good morning all, and welcome back Jay-Jay, and of course a wonderful, huge-amount-of-text-welcome to our new resident fallen angel.

Also, LT is quite right. It's only been a short time IC since your last post, Hellis. A lot of interaction between characters has been going on, and there hasn't been a lot of movement in the main plot at all.

Tides of Dusk: A Piratical Tale of Fantasy

Thomas sat rearward upon his chair, his chest resting upon the back to allow the still tender flesh around the tattoo to be free to heal. He faced his open cabin door with his eyes cast downward to several pages of nautical charts lying beneath him on the floor. The route to the Seranas would be easy enough: a short passage southward towards Panama, then northwest to skirt the Cayman Islands, with the Seranas beyond. Easy enough, if his path didn’t take the Skate through the heart of the Spanish Main.

A long sigh escaped Thomas’ lips as he continued to stare. There was nothing for it, his whole existence as a pirate had been in the shadow of the hostile flag of Spain. In his lifetime he knew that he would never see the New World any other way. The Court of Charles II was too enriched and too woven into the future of the Americas for it to be otherwise. He and his brethren were nothing by a thorn in the side of a giant.

Thomas smirked at the thought. Better a thorn in a side than a flower crushed under foot.

Freedom had its risks in the New World, hell it had risks in any corner of the globe, but Thomas would not have traded his life for one of supple imprisonment any day. The dandies and courtly men and women that visited Jamaica, and looked down their noses in horror at the reality of life so far from the gilded gaze of the king, made him value his existence all the more. What did they know of the world? What had their riches truly bought them?

They knew nothing but service. Selfish and cowering service to the monarch that fed them. They were not but dogs, bustled in finery and jewels, but lacking the callouses and scars which were the heralds of a life spent among the salt of the earth.

His mind would have wandered longer, thinking upon his own place in the world, if it were not for the First Mate that blazed her way in front of his cabin door. The sharp thud or her heels upon the deck heralded her coming, but even so Thomas was not prepared for the blur of her form, like the flash of bird from amongst the trees.

Thomas was up in an instant, the chair falling with a wooden clack as he went over the top of it. He reached the doorway in time to see Nicolette’s back, covered in the sheer, wet-linen of her shirt. That coupled with her disheveled locks of golden hair that swayed in a half-tangle behind her, spoke of a night much longer than the one Thomas had had.

A smile wanted to pull at his mouth, a knowing smile of nights spent in the wild and dark corners of the world, and the hellish morning that followed as penance. He quashed it however. In the gait of the First Mate he read more than simply a bad hangover and a desire for clean clothes. There was more there, more to her mood than Thomas could fathom. He knew enough however to realize it wasn’t a circumstance to smile upon.

He let the First Mate go to be with her own thoughts and needs. Thomas spun upon his foot back into his cabin, when an idea came to him. This time a smile did come to his face, but one that lived only long to survive the relative darkness of his cabin. It died instantly upon reaching the sunlight of the main deck, and for the second time that day, Thomas made his way below to the galley.

Almost a half hour later, Thomas returned to the main deck. In his hands he carried two roughhewn mugs, along with a small iron pot. Steam issued in wispy clouds from the pot, and the distinct aroma of freshly brewed Caribbean coffee wafted over the Dusk Skate like an angelic perfume.

With careful steps, so as not to spill the ebony gold contained inside the pot, Thomas wound his way to the aft castle. He passed his own cabin, and continued on to the First Mate’s. The door was closed when he reached there, and he brought the hand that held the two mugs up to knock gently against the thick wood.

“Lieutenant,” he said in a quiet voice, “if you’re agreeable, I have brought coffee to share. I shan’t keep you long.”

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

LT is correct, Hellis/Henry was a casualty of an inattentive mouse operator. I'll be updating the Cast section soon, so Hellis will be added, along with our other newcomers who have completed a CS.

Just so you know, LimeyPanda, you are cleared to write away! TheNewYorker, I know you have stuff in the works with Grainy, but you're free to add your first post in as well, whenever you're ready.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Good morning Pieces Peeps! How are we on this lovely Monday?

Dot, a wonderful post to wake up to, as per your usual awesomeness. Speaking of awesome, when can I expect to see these new faces with some new characters hmmm? It would be wonderful for all those who are still interested in putting together a CS to get it up ASAP. We're getting ready to leave a period in the IC where it would be easy to slide in new characters. Hope to see the new characters soon!

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Atticus’ brow arched upward, and a devilish grin that fit handsomely upon his face, came to his lips. There was no better feeling than having Siya’s body next to his own, and having her speak of even greater things to yet come. The dark, and yet shimmering suggestiveness in her large eyes sent his hair to standing on end, and the demons on his flesh to jeer and hoot in silent abandon.

“That sounds wonderfully necessary.” Atticus said, bending down to kiss the tiny vampire upon her neck, just below her ear. He added just a hint of his infernal magic to his touch, adding a note of his own promise to the one evident in Siya’s voice. Being an incubus did not always mean he was the toughest of strongest in the room, but at times there was no other creature more suited to the task. This thought set his crimson eyes to shining.

He allowed Siya to pull him along, the rest of the world and its problems completely forgotten in the all-encompassing wake of her hips. The food and the fuel it would provide did in truth sound perfectly splendid, especially for the purpose Siya had so intended it to fulfill. However, in that moment Atticus’ stomach was not on the forefront of his thoughts. It had been almost a year since he had spent that one momentous night with Siya. A night filled with more lascivious pleasure than he had known to exist.

Atticus stopped, tugging on Siya’s hand. He bent down to her, his eyes now gleaming a beautiful cherry fire upon her face.

“The food can wait.”

In one fluid motion, Atticus bit down hard upon his own lip. A trickle of blood ran into his mouth and down his chin. With his hands, he took Siya’s cheeks, drawing her face to him, and pressing his lips to her own.


Aislinn Hoyle

Aislinn’s ears perked up in surprise. She had never met a wolf with no pack and no bloodline. There were certainly lone wolves in the world, but not often ones that could not trace their lineage. Perhaps that was what she was smelling, or not smelling. Her giant head cocked to the side, and Aislinn decided that she was intrigued by this one, this Victoria Blasko.

“We shall be pack mates then. If my brother trusts you, there is no more sound an endorsement. As for Ragnarök…”

The old wolf bent down to the red-haired Victoria, her muzzled face somehow achieving a conspiratorial expression. “…I am not aware of the signs either. However, I believe that this coming of the end times is not reaching its speed through natural forces. It is being accelerated.”

Aislinn drew a clawed finger over the white scar upon her neck.

“When I received this gift, just scant hours ago, I was granted a vision inadvertently through my assailant. While I lay dying, I saw blurred images of the god-wolf Fenris being released from his bonds by a white werewolf. I saw Sköll and Máni chasing the Sun and Moon across the sky. And I saw another being, a lady of the north, a lady of ice and snow. She was there, in the end, when she should not have been amongst the living.”

Aislinn paused, rubbing at her scar now, her eyes distant with recollection.

“It was her, this Lady of Ice, that did this to me. Not by her own hand, but by her command. I cannot say for sure, but I have a feeling that she is the one moving to start the beginning of the end. She wants Fenris to be released, though to what end I cannot fathom.”

The werewolf’s eyes now looked to Veti, the amber orbs piercing. “We must stop this, Victoria. Fenris cannot be allowed to be freed. The god-wolf is revered by our kind, but he is bound for a reason. The world is not ready for his release, and all the destruction that will follow in his wake.”

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Woohoo! The 200th IC post is mine! Ahem...anyway...

That's the first part of three. I'm still writing, but I just wanted to get that up.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Zakhar looked up from his position amongst the boulders that surrounded the small island upon which Bain & Hoyle’s castle sat. The granite walls rose above him some five stories, ending in the battlements that crested their peak. Even higher still rose the keep, and the massive tower that housed the private residences of Bain and Hoyle. In the dim light of the coming night, the castle seemed menacing and imposing; a structure that symbolized power and a sense of almost palpable impregnability.

The werewolf felt respect for this power, and knew that the castle didn’t exude its prowess falsely. It was warded by powerful spells and totems, and guarded by ferocious and mighty beings. Inside of these walls Bain and Hoyle had shaped and changed the world for almost a half-a-millennium. Only twice since its construction had the castle been attacked, and both times its assaulters had failed.

In spite of this, Zakhar felt no fear. Only the tight hum of a mind occupied upon the imminent gravity of the present filled his head. He was a warrior, born and bred from generations of the violent and cunning packs of the Logovo Severnogo Vetra—The Den of the North Wind. A death upon the field of battle, in service to his pack mates and to the Lupus Naturae, was his spoken desire. And what a glorious end he would see, with the return of the god-wolf, Fenris, and the destruction of all the heretics that dared to dilute the ancient bloodlines.

But my death will not come this day, he thought, to many must still yet die before I return home.

Zakhar turned his head, his jaws snapping lightly, as the Reddick brothers stepped beside him. Each of the brothers was smaller than he, and they possessed a more lithe build of cable-like muscles. Their coats were a muddy brown, and their eyes were a dull orange when compared to the bright, silvery-blue of his own. He did not like the Reddick brothers, but that mattered not at all in the grand scheme. The pair of them were wily and stealthy, wolves of the shadows, and masters of infiltration. At the moment that was all Zakhar needed.

“Are we ready?” said Bodum, the oldest of the two, and the one with the missing top-right canine. He spoke in a thick North Northern Scottish accent that Zakhar had to play back through his head to fully understand.

“Aye,” said the other brother, Kade. “Let’s get this over with.”

Zakhar looked between the two wolves and licked with repressed annoyance at his long fangs.

“We will be ready when your pack-mates send their signal, and not before. These are your brethren we’re waiting on, so don’t burden me with your impatience.”

The brothers grumbled, but did not reply openly. Instead the three of them crouched into the tidal pools and pulled their strangely woven cloaks tighter around their bodies. As it was, no one could see the intricate pattern of cloth that covered them, as it was this very cloth that prevented them from being visible to any and all eyes. This included the many forms of magical vision so prevalent among the creatures of the Veiled World.

These cloaks, known as Wraithcloth, had been provided by the Ice Queen. A gift to ensure the successful fulfillment of their mission. From what little Zakhar knew of it, Wraithcloth was woven by woodland elves somewhere in the wilds of Asia, though he knew not where. It was imbedded and infused with so many wards that no known magical countermeasure had been discovered to pierce its cloaking effect. The only reason that the three wolves could see each other at all was the small painted runes below each of their eyes. He had heard that the eyes of a god were the only ones capable of seeing through the Wraithcloth, but Zakhar had little worry about encountering one in these walls. The various gods were so disinterested in the machinations of the lower creatures.

That would change quickly however. When the god-wolf was set free, and the events that would follow came to pass, the gods would pay attention… and watch the world erupt before their divine eyes.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Good morning all. I sincerely hope everyone is enjoying their weekend.

It's great to see some new faces with interest in their eyes, so welcome! I look forward to seeing the characters that come about. Just wanted to give a heads up and say that I'm writing up a fairly momentous post that should be completed within a few hours. It will set up good points for new characters to jump in, as well as still give a little time for the interaction that is underway.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Good to see Jay-Jay back. And good note there Derren.

@The New Yorker: I think Gabe is a great character, I just would like to see some background on why he is affiliated with the Bain & Hoyle Company.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Good morning, good morning. Coffee is on and there's some pecan sticky rolls to munch. How we doing today?