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16 days ago
Current Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad.
3 likes
24 days ago
She wanted to read, she wanted to write, but the main thing she wanted was something to fight
4 likes
1 yr ago
Make it clear that you don't need him to be reading Dante tomorrow. Also suggest it would be fun if you had a private language that you could use to mock English speakers in secret.
5 likes
2 yrs ago
Luckily history suggests an infinite ability for people to be shit heads ;)
1 like
3 yrs ago
Achmed the Snake
1 like

Bio

Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.

Most Recent Posts

Ye Olde Liste of Foul Pirates

Brod - Snaggle Tooth and Beer Gut
Eckard
Frankfurt
Halfdan - Norscan
Fernando - Estalian Pistolier
Morgan - Veteran Quartermaster
Holdman - Marked for Challenge
Reeve- Steward

Captives
Capocuoco - Cook
Klaus Metternick - Imperial Scholar

"Apologies captain, I suppose we may add grace to the list with courage and skill," she said quickly.

"Perhaps the next dinner guest you kidnap will make less of a mess," she added a trifle tartly. That wasn't the most politic thing to say but the rum and wine she had consumed were beginning to go to her head. Probably for the best that she had knocked the wine over if it were effecting her to that degree.

There was a knock at the door and Markus grunted in acknowledgement. A sailor came in carrying a wooden platter which he set on the floor before clearing the remains of the meal from the table with practiced ease. Once the carcass of the chicken had been cleared away he set the platter on the table and removed the cover with a theatrical flourish. Inside was a steaming plum pudding covered in a sauce of brandy and raisins. Beside it stood two small bowls of custard which had been sprinkled with sugar.

"Cook's trying to earn his keep I reckon," the sailor said casting an envious look at the meal and at Emmaline who, while quickly regaining her composure still had the rosy glow of alcohol and recent embarrassment to her cheeks.

"He made us a stew like I ain't had since ma'mum's," the sailor added enthusiastically.

"What is his name?" Markus asked, eying the dessert approvingly.

"Capocuoco, didn't catch his first name," the sailor replied. Emmaline snorted in amusement drawing the eyes of both Markus and the unknown crewman.

"His last name means Cook in Tilean," she explained, "it's like meeting a smith named Smith." Markus and the sailor exchanged glances, neither apparently finding coincidence as amusing as Emmaline did in her slightly inebriated state.

"That will be all Reeve," Markus said in dismissal before turning back to the dessert.
Emmaline crunched the mouthful of apple particularly noisily then blushed slightly. That wasn't exactly what a fearful damsel in her position was supposed to do which deepened her blush. Markus' eyes were unusually penetrating and she had a momentary and irrational flash of fear that he could somehow see through all the layers of lies to the core of her being, whatever that was. It occurred to her somewhere deep in her lizard brain that Markus was a very attractive man, for all he smelled of salt and gunpowder.

"I am completely honest," Emmaline assured him, waiting a heartbeat for Sigmar to strike her dead for such an insane assertion. She reached out and touched the scar on his face in a considering fashion. Moistening her lips as she did so and swallowing her mouthful.

"You certainly appear a dangerous man captain, I saw you cut down poor Roberto," she remarked, then realising he didn't know who she was talking about, amplifed the statement.

"He was the captain of our ship," she clarified. Realising she hadn't broken eye contact with Markus for an uncomfortabley long time, she reached for the bottle of rum but managed to snag the sleeve of her dress on the edge of the table and knock the bottle over with a splash of sweet smelling anger fluid.

"Shiz!" she snapped in a rather unladly like fashion, snatching her sleeve back before it could be stained by the spreading mess.
Emmaline picked at the chicken rather daintily. She knew the rudiments of fine dining having been required on occasion to woo various marks among the aristocracy. Even so she still didn't want to expose herself to the full scrutiny of a formal banquet. She drank somewhat more freely, though she didn't over indulge, being able to command the winds of magic and getting black out drunk didn't pair well as a general rule and even less so in this particular circumstance. For a moment she pondered attempting to kill the pirate captain with a spell. She could probably manage it even with her meagre skills, but it didn't solve the problem of exactly what she planned to do after killing him. There was no way for her to go and no way she could overcome the whole crew. Best to wait for an opportunity. Idly she picked up an apple and took a bite out of it chewing thoughtfully.

"I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of skill or courage to impress you with Captain," she confessed, gesturing with the apple to emphasize the point. She leaned forward slightly, the action pressing her full breasts together against the silken dress and making it cling. The dress had been tailored for the duchess who didn't enjoy the same endowments Emmaline's northen blood had bestowed upon her.

"My ... guardian," she said, stumbling slightly over the word to imply that Albrecht wasn't exactly kin to her, perhaps a nobleman to whom she was mistress, "will pay for me I hope." It wasn't much of a hope, while Albrecht would regret losing an apprentice who paid him guild dues, it wasn't like the disreputable old wizard had piles of gold laying around.

"I ..." she injected a slight tremble into her voice before continuing in a rush, "I dont know how much he will pay, he has money but I'm... well you know, not really family." There was a deliberate quaver in her voice which betrayed the unfairness of her situation. She tried not to imagine being stripped naked and paraded before a group of pirates who were putting her up for auction to some Araybian potentate. She made a show of avoiding looking at the knife in his hand as she took another bite out of her apple.

Keeping a dress clean on the deck of a working ship was no easy task. Between the grease covered guns and the tar slicked ropes that crisscrossed the ship like the web of a particularly demented spider, not to mention the continued attempts to grope her by various filthy sailors, many of home still smeared with gun smoke and blood from the recent battle, Emmaline's work was cut out for her. With her possessions now loot for the crew however, several of them were wearing articles of underclothing as hats or bandannas, preserving her outfit was something of a priority. Ranald alone knew where she was going to sleep, though she tried to put that out of her mind for the moment. When the bell finally ran for dinner it was with considerable relief that she headed back, aft?, towards the Captain's Cabin.

Emmaline pushed the door open and stepped out of the dingy narrow hallway into Markus' cabin in time to see the tough looking captain slide out of his hammock and take his seat at a surprisingly ornate chair. It seemed the only item of any real comfort in the room save for a few books which sat on a shelf, netted with twine to stop them from pitching out onto the floor whenever the ship rocked on the waves. The water had been calm for the few days Emmaline had been at sea, but it was obvious even to a land lubber like her that the sea was beginning to rise as night fell.

Without speaking a word she crossed the room and took a seat in the other open chair, smoothing the cream silk of her dress before setting herself down. It was obvious from the repast that had been prepared that they were already getting good service out of the cook. A roast chicken and several baked potatoes, both spiced, lay on a plater surrounded by some fresh apples. A decanter of wine, a dark red vintage which Emmaline had come to associate with Tilea and almost certainly had been loot from the captured ship, sat beside the chicken along with two glasses with heavy leaded bottoms that gave them some stability at sea. They had left the Poxed Whore just before sundown, after the pirates had stripped the ship of anything of value, down to her cordage and powder. A fire had been set in the ships aft before they cast off the lines and the glow of the burning ship was still barely visible on the horizion.

"Thank you for inviting me Captain," Emmaline said with something of a strained formality. She reminded herself that she needed to make an ally of the pirate captain, or at least lull him into complacency. It didn't hurt that alone among the pirates he cut a rather handsome figure.
Emmaline resisted the urge to explain that she wasn't a lady. Her father had been a tanner and her mother a seamstress, both of whom had been very upset when the girl they had been hoping would marry well enough to lift them out of poverty had instead been plucked by fate and the witchfinders to attend the Colleges of Magic. The captain's, Markus judging by comments she had overheard, misapprehensions about her might help to keep her alive, at least long enough for her to escape. There was a general murmur of approval at the notion of her dining with the crew and for a moment she wondered if choosing the brig might not be the safest choice. Well as any con artist knew, the safest choice now and the safest choice later weren't always the same thing. If she was going to escape she needed to put this Markus at ease, something she wouldn't be able to do from the brig.

There was a whoop of delight as a pair of pirates came onto the deck with Emmaline's traveling case. They opened it by the simple expedient of smashing the latch with the hilt of a cutlass and the case sprang open to reveal several dresses and a selection of underwear. Half a dozen of the crew descended like seagulls each eager to snatch a souvenir. It was fortunate for her that the seemed to have mistaken the simple alchemical kit in a second case as belonging to the scholar. She had talked briefly with Klaus Metternick, a penniless exile trading on his education and hoped that if the matter was raised he would be wise enough to keep his mouth shut.

Emmaline stood up, rubbing her wrists together to restore the circulation that had been cut off by the bindings.

"I would be pleased to dine with you captain," she said ignoring the lewd shouts and cheers of the crew at the announcement. Ranald's balls, how did she ever manage to get herself into these situations!
Emmaline von Morganstern knelt on the deck in the blistering heat, her rump resting on her calves. Sweat born of both fear and the sun tickled down her back. In the back of her mind she was thankful that the 'solar oil' she had applied to protect her pale skin was one of the few concotions that her disreputable master had taught here which actually seemed to work. Emmaline was an apprentice wizard of the Gold Order, unfortunately thanks to her indifferent instruction and her own disinclination to practice of generally exert herself, she couldn't summon up spell fire to burn the pirates to ash, or conjure golden wings to fly off into the sunset. Emmaline couldn't have been further from the popular conception of a witch, she was of middling height with volutopus curves which gave her a soft look favored by Tilean artists. Hailing from the Empire she had the round hips and impressive bust as well as the pale blond hair of that northern race. Her hair, which hung to her hips, was frazzled and wild as a result of the battle and the bag which had been tied over her head.

It was unusual to find a woman aboard a ship and the leecherous looks she got from the disreputable looking crew made it clear that this lot could hardly believe their luck. Stories of what befell women whom were captured by pirates were nothing if not lurid and Emmaline knew that even if she survived that attention, the best she could hope for was to be sold into the seraglio of some Araybian Sultan. They were an ugly looking bunch too, unwashed and stinking even before you added the reek of blood and powder smoke that currently clung to their filthy clothing. Emmaline was dressed in a traveling dress of pale cream silk with gold embroidery which she had stolen from the Duchess of Luccini's wardrobe before she fled. It wasn't the most practical choice for a sea voyage but after what had happened in Luccini she hadn't enjoyed the luxury of time. When she provided the potion to restore the Duke fading sexual prowess she hadn't thought she needed to be more explicit in her instructions. How was she to know that the Duchess would use ten times the amount Emmaline had suggested to decorate an apple. Apparently the golden apple had some kind of sentimental place in Tilean art, which was fine with Emmaline. The problem was the Duchess had accidentally set the apple down for a moment while she talked to her page. Long enough for her stallion to gobble it up. The resulting outrage would probably live in Tilean folklore for generations. It wasn't REALLY Emmaline's fault but she doubted she would have lived out the day if she hadn't taken ship at once.

Roberto Di Rimini and his ship The Poxed Whore had been first ship out of the harbor. Di Rimini had been in his 40s but with enough of the memory of swashbuckling gallantry to take Emmaline aboard for the few crowns and trinkets she could summon up. He had done everything he could to escape the pirates and then done his best to fight when they had finally run them down, but for all his swagger he had lasted only a few seconds in single combat with the chief of the pirates. He had gone over the side with the other dead, food now for the sharks which circled the ships, their fins drawing rippling Vs in the smooth water.

"I am Emmaline von Morganstern and Albrecht von Vissendorf will ransom me!" Emmaline declared as one of the pirates moved around behind her and cut her bonds. He gave her a pinch on the bottom as he did so which she did her best to ignore. Albrecht the Magnificent, as he styled himself, was her titular master. Calling him 'von Vissendorf' gave him the same illusion of nobility she cultivated with her 'von Morganstern' though in reality he probably would have been hanged as a pimp and a pickpocket if he hadn't displayed the mediocre magical ability which had taken him to the Imperial College of Magic. Far from reforming him, the College had introduced Albrecht to fertile new fields of petty larceny and fraud which kept him in wine and prevented his various debtors from cutting his fingers off. He had sent her to Tilea to get her out of sight for a few months after one particularly ill advised scam involving selling mining rights to the Prefect of Altdorf had gone wrong. It was vanishingly unlikely he had the money to ransom her, and even more unlikely that he would bother if he did, but there didn't seem any harm in pretending otherwise, if nothing else it might keep her off the slave block for a few weeks.
Sabatine blinked the flashes of varicolored light from behind her eyes. The multiple quick transits they had undertaken where brutally jarring but they had succeeded in deploying a cone of missiles in a sixty degree arc with their focus on the Hikendorf's crater. The calculations had been run a half dozen times, correcting for gravity from the primary and the moon. Even though the math was complex, the astrogation computer had been built to solve multidimensional calculus that was orders of magnitude more complicated. The missiles accelerated to 0.6 of lightspeed over their three minute acceleration burns and then broke into three segments to spread the footprint. Each segment weighed a quarter of a ton, carrying enough potential energy to gut a battleship. The missiles were deployed sufficiently far enough from the alliance ships that they had remained out of sensor range. Lumps of iron without electronic signatures were far harder to detect than a star ship and so, by the time the alliance realized they had incoming, the missiles were only a few minutes from impact. Both the K-21 and the Halifax reacted as Kaiden had planned, they began to accelerate away from the moon, firing their plasma cannon at maximum rate. The plasma cannons were designed to nudge the missiles off their flight paths but at maximum velocity and at the sharp angles they were coming in, relative to the orginal positions of the two destroyers. Because they were inside the arcs of the missiles, even a direct hit provided minimal deflection. Sabatine had no doubt that both Alliance skippers were frantic to save their crippled cruiser. Kaiden's plan was, well to call it daring was to understate the point.

"Extracting," someone called as knives of ice drove into Sabatine's temples. The Vickie snapped into sidereal space 18,000 off the K-21 stern, a little more lateral than the plan had called for. Kaiden's course calculations had been refined with up to the minute observations in the matrix. His astrogation was good, better than Sabatine's, though both of them would have preferred Micha had handled it. The former captain had refused to even entertain the idea, threatening both of them with execution once they got back to Cinnabar. That might happen, but it was much, much more likely that they would be vaporized in the next few seconds. Sabatine's console lit up with a gunnery display, a redundancy incase the rapid in and out jumps knocked Gravling out of commission. As it happened she needn't have bothered. Helena was already swinging the targeting reticule onto the stern of the K-21. The destroyer had certainly detected them and its ventral guns were already swinging to bear on them, but because Kaiden knew the trajectory of the incoming missles, he knew what bearing K-21 had lain her guns upon. Their extraction wasn't perfect, but it still meant the destroyer had to swing its heavy guns nearly 140 degrees. A starships cannons floated on frictionless electromagnetic bearings, but the inertia of several tons of steel still meant they needed time to traverse. Graveling fired, the kick of the cannons slamming through the ship like a trip hammer as both barrels fire in close syncopation. The first bolt struck the hull of K-21 just aft of her turret, whipping the destroyer like a kicked dog. The second shot hit the turret housing itself, dishing in hull plating.

"Stand by for maneuver," Kaiden called, though the ship was already shifting, gravity altering with the thrusters. The plasma cannon slammed again and this time the K-21's plasma cannon errupted in a jet of blue white that slammed the destroyer sideways. Jets of pressurised air jetted from a dozen places, forming gyesers of ice crystals as seams started from the whipping of the impact.

"Hikendorf is firing," Ottis called. Sabatine tapped a key and remoted the midshipman's terminal onto her own. He had pulled up a plot position indicator which showed the tracks of the incoming missiles as cyan tracks well as the position of the two destroyers. Three of the missiles had been deflected by the combined gunfire but that still left 27 incoming projectiles. The cruiser itself was now firing with its ventral guns. The 20 centimeter guns were far heavier than those the destroyers mounted, but the rounds were coming in with nearly zero deflection. Even a direct hit wasn't sufficient to stop the missle segments as they slashed in.

"Dear god," Sabatine breathed as she scrolled the video back a few seconds. Dozens of men in rigging suits had been crawling over the hull of the cruiser, doubtlessly trying to fix the damage the Vickie had done in her initial assault. As a group they leaped from the ship and started to bound away across the moons surface. That probably didn't save them from the side scatter when the heavy guns cracked. Sabatine winced. The alliance spacers were her enemies, but she didn't take any pleasure in watching them broiled alive in their suits. The Vickie slammed as two more missiles launched. Both rounds were aimed at the distant Halifax which was desperately breaking to try to aid her crippled consort.

"Impact," Sabatine reported as the first missile struck. It was a hundred yards from the Hikendorf's stern, but the detonation was spectacular lifting a cloud of lunar dust that billowed out in all directions. A moment later the second round hit, this one less than twenty yards from the Hikendorf. The blast lifted the bow six feet into the air, the ship dropped into the ensuing crater, the lower gravity lessened the impact but that didn't discount the impact of several thousand tons of steel. Sabatine watched the back of the cruiser break before the billowing dust obscured her view. More missiles struck into the cloud, lighting it with flashes and roiling the dust. The Vickie's crew was cheering, those without duties having been watching on flat panel displays.

"Halifax is inserting!" Ottis yelled, raising Sabatine's opinion of the midshipman even further.

"What?" Kaiden demanded, looking up from the missile attack he was furiously plotting. Even as he spoke the dot on the PPI representing the Halifax wavered and vanished as the ship slipped into the matrix ahead of Kaiden's salvo.

"She is running," Sabatine said flatly, not quite daring to believe it. Either of the destroyers ought to have been able to handle the Vickie, even after she had crippled the K-21.

"RCN Viceroy, This is AFS K-21," a panic voice yelled over the 30 meter emergency band, "Cease fire, cease fire, we surrender!"

"They had crew dismounted, probably half at least," Sabatine surmised. She scrolled the image back and tapped a few commands into her console. A forest of carrots sprang up marking crewmen who had been engaged in the repair effort.

"Probably half the crew from both destroyers, maximum effort to free her," Sabatine concluded.

"RCn VIceroy, I repeated, we surrender, ceasefire!"
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