Pirates, Yo.
Jenny and I have recently gotten back into the scifi/fantsty-ish collab we concocted a while ago, so I did a tiny bit of writing for it. I'm giddy over this collab right now.
We've got some pirates below the cut.
I'll indent this later; for now, here's the colossal wall-o'-text version.
The three men who strolled down the crowded, boisterous streets cut a curious picture.
The human man in the center, a step ahead of the others, wore a dashing red coat that arched behind him in the buffet of the breeze. He was lean and rangy, short brown hair left in an uncombed, careless toss. His bronzed face bore a few days’ growth, and the legs of his torn pants were caked in sea gunk. Despite his unkempt appearance, however, he had a powerful air of majesty and charisma about him that radiated from his darting seaweed eyes and the tilt of his face. As he strutted by, both wenches and ladies collapsed into spasms of whispers and giggles, several of them whistling and waving handkerchiefs. The man, however, was absorbed in conversation with his two companions, seemingly oblivious to the stir he was causing among the women of the port town.
To his right was a short, greenish creature with eyes magnified to enormous orbs by the thick glass of his spectacles. Across his waist and back he wore a multitude of satchels and packs, stuffed full with maps, scrolls, quills, and a myriad of materials and utensils. As he walked, his legs were forced into an uneven jog to keep up with the strides of the man beside him. As a result, his words were punctuated by breathless gulps.
The figure to the far left of the group was a drastic contrast to the fellow on the right. He was massive in both height and girth. His dark, hide-like chest was three times as broad as the man beside him, the jutting jaw of his giant cranium obscuring most of his short, thick neck. He towered over the slack-jawed passers by, several heads above the tallest person on the street.
As the unlikely companions made their way along the uneven alleys, they were locked in rapid conversation.
“Remind me of our status again, Scrim,” said the human man. The small creature beside him rummaged in a pouch strapped to his hip, his padded fingertips eventually emerging with a dirtied roll of paper.
“We are down a boatswain, a quartermaster, a carpenter, all four gunners including the master gunner, three powder monkeys, five sailors, two riggers, and the first, second, and third mates, Captain.”
“Brilliant,” said Captain Reno, “Who isn’t dead?”
“Well, sir,” said Scrim, stowing the list back in his hip-pouch and refastening the clasp, “We still have a navigator, which is to say, myself. We also have Boruk,” he nodded to the hulking figure beside them, “so we still have a head cook. Additionally, Boruk has had boatswain experience in the past, so he could potentially fill that position as well. The only other survivors are the fourth mate, one rigger, and a sailor or two.”
Boruk shook his colossal head.
“They are gone, Captian,” he boomed.
“Come again, now?”
“They are deserting as we speak.”
“What do you mean, deserting?!” cried the Captain, stopping hard. Behind them, a packed cart swerved to avoid the men, its driver letting out a torrent of curses.
“They climbed off the deck as we left the dock.”
Scrim’s lips molded into a feeble smile.
“Perhaps they’re simply doing a little shopping while we’re landbound?”
“No,” said Boruk. “They decided in the galley last night. They said their loyalty was to Cap’n Tolly.”
“Well that would have been a fantastic thing to tell me before they deserted!” shouted the Captain, nails biting into his clenched palms.
“You did not ask,” said Boruk.
“That’s right,” said Reno, “I didn’t. My mistake. Next time you hear talk of desertion or mutiny, it would be lovely if you’d let me know right away, Boruk.”
Boruk nodded his enormous gray head.
“Yes Captain. I will do so".
“Splendid,” said Reno. “All right. What’s our next order of business, crew? Scrim?”
“In my opinion, I believe the most logical course of action, if one takes into account-”
“Excellent. Boruk?”
“Hire a new crew.”
“Magnificent. A new crew it is. To the nearest tavern, men!”
“ . . . Tavern, Captain?” inquired Scrim.
“Yes, good navigator,” said Reno, “Tavern. We’re searching for a crew of salty, raucous lowlifes. Where better to find the underbelly of the law than a place where the booze flows freely and the wenches come cheap?”
Scrim’s eyes grew mammoth beneath his lenses.
“Sir, if you’d be so kind as to consider-”
“Marvelous idea, Scrim. You go whip up some advertisements, and we’ll scour the bars for potential shipmates. We’ll reconvene at The Buxom Barmaid to conduct our interviews.”
“At the what Captain?”
“The Buxom Barmaid. It’s the tavern right down street from The Lewd Lady and the Naughty Nag. ”
Scrim sighed heavily.
“As you wish, Captain.”
As the diminutive navigator shuffled off down the street, Captain Reno turned to Boruk.
“Let the search begin,” he said, hands on his hips. “Today is the dawn of a new era for The Ekchuah. Soon, all of Gaerek will know the name of Captain Reno!”
With that, he strode through the doorway of the nearest bar. Shaking his head, Boruk ducked inside, his broad frame snapping the wood of the doorframe as he squeezed through.
I intend to write part 2 of this lovely soonish, in which the interviews commence. Fun stuff.
We've got some pirates below the cut.
I'll indent this later; for now, here's the colossal wall-o'-text version.
The three men who strolled down the crowded, boisterous streets cut a curious picture.
The human man in the center, a step ahead of the others, wore a dashing red coat that arched behind him in the buffet of the breeze. He was lean and rangy, short brown hair left in an uncombed, careless toss. His bronzed face bore a few days’ growth, and the legs of his torn pants were caked in sea gunk. Despite his unkempt appearance, however, he had a powerful air of majesty and charisma about him that radiated from his darting seaweed eyes and the tilt of his face. As he strutted by, both wenches and ladies collapsed into spasms of whispers and giggles, several of them whistling and waving handkerchiefs. The man, however, was absorbed in conversation with his two companions, seemingly oblivious to the stir he was causing among the women of the port town.
To his right was a short, greenish creature with eyes magnified to enormous orbs by the thick glass of his spectacles. Across his waist and back he wore a multitude of satchels and packs, stuffed full with maps, scrolls, quills, and a myriad of materials and utensils. As he walked, his legs were forced into an uneven jog to keep up with the strides of the man beside him. As a result, his words were punctuated by breathless gulps.
The figure to the far left of the group was a drastic contrast to the fellow on the right. He was massive in both height and girth. His dark, hide-like chest was three times as broad as the man beside him, the jutting jaw of his giant cranium obscuring most of his short, thick neck. He towered over the slack-jawed passers by, several heads above the tallest person on the street.
As the unlikely companions made their way along the uneven alleys, they were locked in rapid conversation.
“Remind me of our status again, Scrim,” said the human man. The small creature beside him rummaged in a pouch strapped to his hip, his padded fingertips eventually emerging with a dirtied roll of paper.
“We are down a boatswain, a quartermaster, a carpenter, all four gunners including the master gunner, three powder monkeys, five sailors, two riggers, and the first, second, and third mates, Captain.”
“Brilliant,” said Captain Reno, “Who isn’t dead?”
“Well, sir,” said Scrim, stowing the list back in his hip-pouch and refastening the clasp, “We still have a navigator, which is to say, myself. We also have Boruk,” he nodded to the hulking figure beside them, “so we still have a head cook. Additionally, Boruk has had boatswain experience in the past, so he could potentially fill that position as well. The only other survivors are the fourth mate, one rigger, and a sailor or two.”
Boruk shook his colossal head.
“They are gone, Captian,” he boomed.
“Come again, now?”
“They are deserting as we speak.”
“What do you mean, deserting?!” cried the Captain, stopping hard. Behind them, a packed cart swerved to avoid the men, its driver letting out a torrent of curses.
“They climbed off the deck as we left the dock.”
Scrim’s lips molded into a feeble smile.
“Perhaps they’re simply doing a little shopping while we’re landbound?”
“No,” said Boruk. “They decided in the galley last night. They said their loyalty was to Cap’n Tolly.”
“Well that would have been a fantastic thing to tell me before they deserted!” shouted the Captain, nails biting into his clenched palms.
“You did not ask,” said Boruk.
“That’s right,” said Reno, “I didn’t. My mistake. Next time you hear talk of desertion or mutiny, it would be lovely if you’d let me know right away, Boruk.”
Boruk nodded his enormous gray head.
“Yes Captain. I will do so".
“Splendid,” said Reno. “All right. What’s our next order of business, crew? Scrim?”
“In my opinion, I believe the most logical course of action, if one takes into account-”
“Excellent. Boruk?”
“Hire a new crew.”
“Magnificent. A new crew it is. To the nearest tavern, men!”
“ . . . Tavern, Captain?” inquired Scrim.
“Yes, good navigator,” said Reno, “Tavern. We’re searching for a crew of salty, raucous lowlifes. Where better to find the underbelly of the law than a place where the booze flows freely and the wenches come cheap?”
Scrim’s eyes grew mammoth beneath his lenses.
“Sir, if you’d be so kind as to consider-”
“Marvelous idea, Scrim. You go whip up some advertisements, and we’ll scour the bars for potential shipmates. We’ll reconvene at The Buxom Barmaid to conduct our interviews.”
“At the what Captain?”
“The Buxom Barmaid. It’s the tavern right down street from The Lewd Lady and the Naughty Nag. ”
Scrim sighed heavily.
“As you wish, Captain.”
As the diminutive navigator shuffled off down the street, Captain Reno turned to Boruk.
“Let the search begin,” he said, hands on his hips. “Today is the dawn of a new era for The Ekchuah. Soon, all of Gaerek will know the name of Captain Reno!”
With that, he strode through the doorway of the nearest bar. Shaking his head, Boruk ducked inside, his broad frame snapping the wood of the doorframe as he squeezed through.
I intend to write part 2 of this lovely soonish, in which the interviews commence. Fun stuff.