(no subject)
Amos, tucked in his scabbard, rested in the palms of his master's hands, which were curled up slightly against the headboard of the bed. It was considered a superficial thing to clean a weapon of blood, so the sword still had Argus's own blood across the tip. If Amos was sentient, he would have thought that Argus must have been quite proud of his dilligence in pointing out the Guardian Star. Amos did that quite well.
Stretched out on the bed, looking rather like a dead bear, was Mr. Drake, wearing his normal affairs, and staring up at the ceiling. After packing and readying his satchel for arrival on Silanvar, he simply laid down on the bed and thought. His blank stare was unreadable, his soft, emotionless expression made it appear that he was in fact sleeping with his eyes open - or dead. Holding his sword like the effigy on a warrior's tomb, his stone-cold gaze stretching out into infinite space.
Remember your past,
Don't relive it.
Think of the future,
Don't exist in it.
Remain in the present,
But don't be hindered by it.
Those would have been the words on the side of this warrior's tomb.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts and put your seats and tables in their upright position, we are beginning the descent to Silanvar." Dune's voice came over the radio, and shattered Argus's stone face into laughter. He limped, barefoot, up onto deck, his walk assisted by a decorative spear he had found hanging on the wall of his room.
"Me seatbelt's got two of the same end, miss, I was hopin' on findin' a seat up 'ere?" Argus smiled wide, gesturing to the navigation panel, behind the helm.
"That's Captain Maelstrom, and I thought I said no injured coach passengers on deck for the remainder of the flight?" Dune tried to look serious and proper, but quickly lost her composure.
"Posh, Cap'n Maelstrom, it's but a scratch. Cannah man ever get a seat with a pretty lady these days? Yeh'd think I were tryin' teh take over!" He made his way to his seat, regardless, leaning on the butt of the spear.
"Fine." She snorted, mockingly. "I had to shoot my last navigator, anyway."
"I work fer peanuts," He jested, taking his seat.
"You're hired!"
Argus nodded his reply sternly, sitting his goggles to his face and looking down at the navigational panel. He rattled off the coordinates effortlessly, and it was with that that Dune began to pull the Ragnarok into it's descent.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Captain Maelstrom, this is Commodore Larsen. Welcome home!" A woman's voice came over the radio, as the Ragnarok began it's approach to the port of Navale Silanvarus, on Profundum.
"Larsen, you old bat! Hah! It's great to hear your voice!" Dune shouted back to the radio.
"Same to you, Captain. The Star shines upon your arrival!" The Commodore's smile could nearly be heard through the static.
"Get Iavin to believe that, and I might follow suit, Commodore!" She jested.
"Easier said than done. The King waits for you and Sir Drake at Navale Silanvarus, dock 3. Larsen out."
((to be continued))
((because I'm lazy.))
Stretched out on the bed, looking rather like a dead bear, was Mr. Drake, wearing his normal affairs, and staring up at the ceiling. After packing and readying his satchel for arrival on Silanvar, he simply laid down on the bed and thought. His blank stare was unreadable, his soft, emotionless expression made it appear that he was in fact sleeping with his eyes open - or dead. Holding his sword like the effigy on a warrior's tomb, his stone-cold gaze stretching out into infinite space.
Remember your past,
Don't relive it.
Think of the future,
Don't exist in it.
Remain in the present,
But don't be hindered by it.
Those would have been the words on the side of this warrior's tomb.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts and put your seats and tables in their upright position, we are beginning the descent to Silanvar." Dune's voice came over the radio, and shattered Argus's stone face into laughter. He limped, barefoot, up onto deck, his walk assisted by a decorative spear he had found hanging on the wall of his room.
"Me seatbelt's got two of the same end, miss, I was hopin' on findin' a seat up 'ere?" Argus smiled wide, gesturing to the navigation panel, behind the helm.
"That's Captain Maelstrom, and I thought I said no injured coach passengers on deck for the remainder of the flight?" Dune tried to look serious and proper, but quickly lost her composure.
"Posh, Cap'n Maelstrom, it's but a scratch. Cannah man ever get a seat with a pretty lady these days? Yeh'd think I were tryin' teh take over!" He made his way to his seat, regardless, leaning on the butt of the spear.
"Fine." She snorted, mockingly. "I had to shoot my last navigator, anyway."
"I work fer peanuts," He jested, taking his seat.
"You're hired!"
Argus nodded his reply sternly, sitting his goggles to his face and looking down at the navigational panel. He rattled off the coordinates effortlessly, and it was with that that Dune began to pull the Ragnarok into it's descent.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Captain Maelstrom, this is Commodore Larsen. Welcome home!" A woman's voice came over the radio, as the Ragnarok began it's approach to the port of Navale Silanvarus, on Profundum.
"Larsen, you old bat! Hah! It's great to hear your voice!" Dune shouted back to the radio.
"Same to you, Captain. The Star shines upon your arrival!" The Commodore's smile could nearly be heard through the static.
"Get Iavin to believe that, and I might follow suit, Commodore!" She jested.
"Easier said than done. The King waits for you and Sir Drake at Navale Silanvarus, dock 3. Larsen out."
((to be continued))
((because I'm lazy.))