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Not sure if it is technically a show but he Horatio Hornblower miniseries is insanely good

Gold & Glory: AU thread

A strange hush fell over both ships, broken only by the rhythmic knocking as the two hulls were driven together by the swell beneath the tumblehome. Both ships were lashed together by grappling lines and further tangled by the ruin that Markus had made of the caravel's sails. A moment later there was a great bloodthirsty cheer and the crew surged over onto the caravel to begin looting their new prize. A few stayed behind, carrying for wounded mates as best they could, though without a surgeon aboard there was little they could do other than bandage wounds and hope for the best.

"Markus, stay with us lad," Morgan said, kneeling beside the fallen captain. To Emmaline's eyes he looked like he had jumped from a light wound to advanced stages of supperation. She had seen men in similar states after being stabbed in the guts during bar fights and laying screaming for several days. Black lines traced his veins from where the bolt sank into his flesh and his skin was growing pale and clammy.

"Mannan help us I think he is dying," the old privateer cursed. Emmaline shrugged her shoulders indifferently.

"Live by the sword, ex cetera," she replied airly. Morgan turned to glare at her.

"He jumped infront of crossbow bolt for you!" he snarled, concern for Markus transmuting itself into anger. Emmaline arched an eyebrow at Morgan, clearly unimpressed.

"I wouldn't have been here at if you and your band of cut throats hadn't abducted me," she pointed out reasonably, he eyes flicking over Morgan's shoulder to the bizarre looking dwarf and the Brettonian who appeared to have come from the elves caravel. Morgan caught he wrist as she turned to leave.

"What was he talking about when he said you were going to tell him your secrets?" the pirate demanded. Emmaline attempted to pull her arm free but Morgan's work toughened hands were like iron.

"How should I know, and why should I care, he is dead and damned and good riddance," she snapped. Morgan bared his teeth in frustration, his eye flicking between Markus, the caravel and the tangle of sails and rigging.

"Perkins, Tomlon, get the captain into his cabin, then start rounding up a party to clear this rats nest away. Sea will be rising once it gets dark and we will knock ourselves to pieces if we are still tangled with this bitch," he snapped.

"Hey," Emmaline protested. Morgan waved an arm at the caravel.

"That bitch," he clarified, "not you bitch." Emmaline rolled her eyes. The two sailors who had been busily pillaging some dead elves trotted over and lifted Markus by his arms and legs, carrying him towards the captains cabin. He dragged Emmaline along behind having not released her wrist. Tomlon and Perkin's laid Markus who by now was shivering and muttering to his cot and set him down before all but running out of the cabin, either to follow Morgan's orders, or more likely, to join in the plunder. Morgan gave Emmaline a shove over towards the stricken captain.

"Even if I wanted to help, which, I emphasise, I dont, I'm not a surgeon," Emmaline protested.

"Do what you can for him," Morgan grated. Emmaline's derisive snort cut of as Morgan grabbed her around the throat his eyes flaming with genuine anger.

"You better hope he gets better, because whoever takes over if he dies will have you on your back before his corpse is cold. Save him and he will be in your debt," the old salt all but yelled. Emmaline hadn't imagined that Morgan was so attached to Markus, but evidently she had misjudged him. Morgan shoved her at Markus again and then strode from the cabin, bellowing orders that cut of abruptly as he slammed the door closed. Emmaline made a rude guesture at his back and then slumped into one of the mahogany chairs, snatching a bottle of rum from the sideboard and pulling the cork with her teeth. She sat back for a moment.

"Just let him die," she told herself reasonably, taking a sip of the rum, "it isn't like he doesn't deserve it." Markus moaned in his delirium, his back arching. Emmaline raised the bottle to his lips again but paused before taking another drink.

"Oh for Ranald's sake," she sighed.

__________

Emmaline shoved the leather wrapped stick between Markus' lips. As Morgan had predicted the sea had risen in the hours since the attack. Although she hadn't left the cabin, Emmaline could deduce by the fact that they were underway by the fact that the sound of axes had ceased, and the familiar roll of the deck. Morgan had returned once to make sure she was actually attempting to help Markus and the relief on his face when he found her stripping him out of his shirt and examining the wound had been palpable, as had been his surprise when he asked her if she needed anything. The supplies she had asked for from the kitchen had raised his eyebrows, but he was so eager for any chance to save Markus that he had complied without complaint. Once had withdrawn she had locked the cabin door with the heavy iron key Markus used and gotten to work.

Emmaline dipped a rag into the pungent smelling clear fluid that she had distilled from the rum. It wasn't quite pure, but as alchemical base went it was many times more potent than a simple distilled spirit.

"This will hurt," she told the feverish captain, "but don't worry, you totally deserve it." She gripped the base of the quarrel and whispered an incantation, reaching out to the cruel barbs that lodged in Markus' flesh. The metal sagged and softened for a moment and she yanked hard. Markus let out a strangled cry muted by the gag as the bolt pulled free, releasing a gush of blackish unhealthy looking blood. Picking up her rag she thrust it into the wound and was rewarded with another incoherent scream. Squeezing the cloth to get as much of the base into the wound as possible Emmaline withdrew it and began to swab the surrounding flesh clean. Whispering again she began another incantation, tiny fragments of cloth and other foreign material within Markus' body burst burned away with an audible sizzle that was quenched instantly by the distilled alcohol she had introduced. That accomplished she stood and crossed to the chest at the foot of his bed and opened it, digging through the contents till she found the dress he had stolen from her. She sighed morosely and then plucked at the hem until one of the strands of silk came free. carefully she drew on the strand until she had a yard or so of silk which she dropped into her remaining alchemical base along with a steel sewing needle which Morgan had fetched for her. After a moment she withdrew the needle and thread, threaded them together and began to none to gently sew the wound closed.

"For Ranald's sake," she repeated as she tied off the suture.

+Events of Healing+

Gold & Glory: AU thread

When she eventually reached the sweet hereafter, Emmaline was going to have serious words with Ranald. The Trickster God certainly had alot to answer for. She backpedalled away as quickly as she could trying to escape both screaming pirates and the terrifyingly handsome elves that swarmed onto the deck, swinging cruelly hooked swords in gracefully bloody arcs. A sudden explosion coupled with an inconvenient roll of the deck threw Emmaline off her feet, sending her sprawling over one of the upturned ships boats. An elf, staggered by the blast for all its grace, stumbled out of the reeking cloud of powdersmoke, sword raised. Emmaline shouted in panic but before he could strike the elf sagged sideways, a fist sized concavity dished in his breastplate from a musket ball. From the erzatz Brettonian ship there came the sound of splintering timber and the sharp twangs of cables parting as the mainmast lurched sideways, its step shattered by the blast. It toppled slowly, at first slowed by its lines and stays, but as one rope parted the next had to take double the strain until the whole mass of cables ripped free and the mast began to topple. With an undignified squeak Emmaline threw herself under the upturned boat a moment before a rats nest of cables and torn fabric crashed onto the deck. The jolt and the splintering shock of timber striking timber resounded through her chest.

"Shyalla's bleeding tits," she cursed/prayed. The screams of men and elves, momentarily stunned to a more muted volume by the destruction of the caravel's mainmast, picked up in intensity. Emmaline looked around and found herself face to face with the elf she had seen shot, his, its?, eyes glassy in death. She reached out and plucked a cruel looking dagger with an impractical number of spikes from its belt, trying not to wretch in disgust as her hand brushed the cloak that was made of the hide of some hideous deep sea creature. Arrows thudded into the deck around her as archers in the forecastle peppered the deck with crossbow bolts, either confident enough in their own ability or uncaring of shooting into a melee. A pair of elven boots appeared in the two foot of clearence between teh boats gunnels and the deck, grappling with the bare feet of a pirate. Emmaline slashed out with her stolen knife, driving the point through the tough leather. The elf staggered and then crashed to the deck a moment before the point of a cutlass stabbed down into its throat before the unseen pirate moved on to other opponents.

Whatever her fate would be in the hands of Markus and his pirates it certainly would be preferable to slavery at the hands of the Dark Elves. Unfortunately there wasn't much she could do to effect the outcome of the battle. She glanced down at the knife in her hand. Or could she? Taking a few deep breaths she scrambled out from under the boat before she could change her mind, narrowly missing being decapitated by a cutlass swung in blind panic. She stumbled on the bloody deck and crashed into the back of an elf, knocking him off balance as she caromed past to the companionway all but falling down the stairs onto the Smokey gundeck. The shouts and crashes of the battle were muted in the roiling smoke of the deck, abandoned by the gunners in favor of the melee above. She ran across to where the serving bar guarded the stairs which lead down to the galley. She vaulted over the bar and rushed down the stairs into the kitchen, rifling through the alchemical supplies she had concealed there. Hurriedly she pulled a vial of salt essences she had been working on from the case and poured the viscous mixture into a pot. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, she dropped the elven knife into pot and began to whisper an incantation. Too her magically attuned eyes the Gold Wind swirled around the pot. She continued to chant, building to a cresondo that she ended with a chopping motion of her hand. The knife in the pot rusted and decayed, suddenly appearing as though it had been at the bottom of the sea for a century. On the deck above, every elven weapon made of the same material did the same.

Penny's Pencils

NSFW pirate

Gold & Glory: AU thread

Brettonians! Emmaline's heart leaped. She had met a few Brettonian Knights, they were a stiff necked lot and remakabley unsophisticated by Imperial standards, but there wasn't a one of them that wouldn't stab his own mother for the chance to rescue a genuine damsel in distress. Even if the ship owner were not a knight, the merchant class at least paid lipservice to the ethos of their betters. If they were to free her, it would be a simple matter to convince them to set her down somewhere agreeable, perhaps Courrene or Marienburg.

Of course this rescue fantasy relied rather heavily on the Brettonian's taking the ship and her surviving the process. For a moment she considered following Markus' order and retreating below deck to avoid a potential hail of arrows. On balance she decided she would stay on deck, incase the opportunity to leap to freedom, hopefully into the arms of a handsome knight, provided itself. Markus was shouting incomprehensible maritime jargon that sent men scrambling up into the rigging, reefing in some canvas and spreading out others. Ropes snapped and cracked as the ship swung further into the wind, heeling the deck higher as the speed of the vessel began to pick up.

"Never known the frog fuckers to trim their sails that neatly," Morgan commented to Markus, sounding uneasy. The ship was visible from the deck now, its massive forecastle rising up before a great blue and white striped forecourse. The distance between the two ships was narrowing rapidly. They raced towards each other on quartering angles as the winds demanded.

Sum up your week in roleplaying in just 3 words

Alternate pirate wizard

Gold & Glory: AU thread

"Well part of the goal is to keep spunk out of me," Emmaline responded tartly. Morgan, who was taking a slug of from a battered leather flask, choked and then sprayed a mist of what was clearly rum across one of the guns. Markus arched an eyebrow and seemed about to comment when a shout carried down from the deck.

"Captain she's altering course!"

Markus shot Emmaline a look and then turned and trotted up the companionway onto the deck. Lacking any other useful occupation, and aware that Markus' presence was a better shield than bludgeoning Brod with a soup ladle would be if that worthy decided to take advantage of the ships distraction by a strange sail, Emmaline followed ducking her head to avoid braining herself on one of the crossbeams.

Whatever Emmaline had expected to see she was disappointed. The sloop, she hadn't yet been told its name, was heeled over to the wind, the deck slanting more noticeably by the minute. The chopping sea slapped against the side of the hull as the brisk south easterly wind filled the billowing sails. Markus' crew was busy, a dozen men were aloft, shaking out an additional sail from a yard, scampering out over yard arms along the guy ropes. A lithe looking younger man in a loose white shirt slid down a line to land barefoot on the deck before his captain. Like most of the rest of the sailors he was barefoot and sported prodigious callouses. An expensive looking spyglass, clashing incongruously with his ragged clothes, was clutched in his right fist.

"She's rigged like a Brettonian caravel, all squaresails and stunsails," the lookout reported. He was a handsome man in a boyish way, but his voice sounded like a weasel in the process of dying of consumption.

"Something is wrong though," the lookout went on, clearly realizing his captain was waiting for more information. Emmaline glanced out in the direction in which the lookout was enthusiastically gesticulating. For a moment all she could see was open water, but after a moment she thought she could make out a pale splotch on the horizon, something she would have dismissed as a whisp of cloud under normal circumstances.

"She altered course three points nor'west a minute ago, just about the time our sails would have been visible over the horizon," he finished breathily. Markus scowled his face suspicious and his gaze locked on the horizon before flicking up towards the fighting tops. Emmaline didn't understand why that was unusual, but it clearly struck the pirates as such.

"Nor'west," Markus muttered, turning to view the snapping pennant flag that flew from the rearmost mask, judging the wind direction.

"Taking a look at us, bold of 'em," Morgan opined, his voice still harsh with the rum he had ejected a few moments before. Emmaline, who through the winds of magic, was better attuned to magnetic north than anyone else present, thought she understood. The ship, whatever it was, had been running northerly with a following wind. When it had caught a glimpse of a sail on the horizon, it had turned into a less favorable breeze, deliberately slowing itself so it could take a look at the new comer while she was still far distant.

Gold & Glory: AU thread

2 Days Later

"Give us a bit more Golden Tits!" one of the pirates shouted as he leaned over the wooden bar which served as the table in the main mess. He was an older man forty if he was a day and with blackened teeth beside. His companions howled with laughter at the joke, variations of which had been going around since Markus 'presented' her to the crew. Emmaline smiled sweetly and the rapped the pirates knuckes with the wooden serving ladle with which she had just dispensed the stew of bully beef and old biscuit that she had helped prepare. The pirate yowled and hopped back, clutching his bruised knuckles which were were burned by the hot stew beside.

"One ration per man," she said with a bland expression.

"You bitch!" the pirate snapped and started to make a lunge for her, but his messmates, still laughing at his embarrassment, hustled him onwards to keep the line moving. The pirates ate on the gun deck, using the twelve pounder cannons as improvised tables. The deck reeked of unwashed men and burned powder, but one did get used to it. The next pirate thrust out a battered pewter dish into which Emmaline obdiently ladled a scoop of steaming stew and then handed out a bottle of beer and a piece of hard tack. This pirate forgo to make any comment though he gave her an appreciative look. True to his word Markus had taken her silk dress from her and she now wore a shapeless white shirt and a pair of brown pants along with an ill fitting boots. Well all the clothing was ill fitting, but it was what the crew had and so she had made do. After some asking around she located a needle and thread and performed some basic tailoring. She had hoped that her current shapeless garb, in addition to the rather severe braid into which she had coiled her hair, might serve to lessen the amount of attention she raised, but it didn't seem like a ship full of men who had been weeks or months at sea were that easily put off.

Work as the cooks assistant had proven as congenial as she had hoped. The cook had been pleased with the company and with the help, in exchange she had been able to convince him to do her a few favors. It turned out that access to the rum ration, opened many doors, and with a little cajoling, the cook had been able to secure the small case of alchemical equipment which had been cast aside by the pirates as worthless. Most of it was hidden behind a crate of pickled herring, but a few select items, concealed amidst the various cooking paraphernalia had been put to use. A kitchen wasn't a bad place for a Gold Wizard to work discretely, and the kitchen of a ship of war was an even better one. When asked by the cook what she was doing, she had made a few vague noises about wanting to experiment with sauces, something he had dismissed as the worthless efforts of an amateur, but soon they would begin to yield results.

Of Markus she saw little, desiring to stay out of his sight as much as possible, though on a ship this size it was impossible to avoid him completely. She had a measure of respect for him, despite his piratical ways, he certainly could have taken advantage of her if he wished, or allowed his crew to do so. That spoke... something about the man, though she wasn't quite sure what yet.

Gold & Glory: AU thread

Emmaline opened her mouth to object. Work of any kind was antithetical to her but an idea began to form in her mind as soon as he spoke. She deliberately closed her mouth before she said anything foolish and took a moment to examine the notion as it developed. It was vanishingly unlikely that Albrecht would pay any sizable ransom for her, but there didn't seem to be any advantage in admitting that. She reached out and seized one of the candied raisons between her long fingers and popped the morsel into her mouth.

"If you allow me to write to my beloved Vissendorf," she said, failing despite her efforts to inject much warmth into the the sentence.

"I shall tell him I am being held captive by the most vile pirates and beg for my swift relief," she continued. With the wine knocked over she took the bottle of rum and took a slug from the neck, nostrils flaring as the strong liquor burned the back of her throat.

"As for the other matter, if you insist I work my passage..." she glanced meaningfully out to the deck where the crew were cheering to some raucus entertainment or another.

"I can think of worse ways to pass the time than as the assistant to our gallant cook."