Picture and word of the week response
It's been a while since I posted, so I needed to stretch my brain a bit. This is a response to both the last picture and word prompts. I kinda like how this one turned out, I've never done prose in this genre before.
Inigo stood in front of the huge monstrosity, and sighed. The tattered rags on his weakened body fluttered like a flag. It caressed his blistered skin. How very serene this place turned out to be.
He knew where he was. The waves crashing onto the shores gave him subtle hints, as did the whispers of the salty air. He no longer had eyes to see the old outpost, but he knew what it looked like. Before, as a dark monster creeping into the sea with burning eyes and many mouths spewing fire, and after, as a burning beacon in the night lighting the way to all souls who were freed that night.
It was a night of metal, and of wood, and of cold calculations. Aye, that was his purpose that night. With stylus and compass and other instruments at his disposal, he had managed the impossible and found the sentinel in the greedy darkness. He edged the "Ship of Fate" upon the sleeping giant. Was it a matter of simply killing with blade, slitting the throat, he could have done the deed and passed back into the night without such as a whimper. But this, this required violence.
With corals and dunes flagged to avoid and a solution found in the left bosom of the bay, the attack began. Like a dog barking a challenge across an empty town street, the guns fired, one by one, verifying distance. The fourth and fifth stuck true, and their masters shouted out their knicks for the last five. The guns belched fire and powder.
Moderate damage was the report. Inigo remembered how stubbornly he repressed the feeling to execute the new tack, to bring the right hand of justice to bear. But he waited, there was too much at stake. This was a science, not only of the mechanical, but of the mind as well. He waited, and his crew waited along with him.
At last, the lights in the distance burned as the evilness on shore became outraged, being attacked on it's own soil. It retaliated, balls of death reached out to a large portion of sea where Inigo imagined his vessel would have been had he given into his urges. A science of mechanics and mind, he thought. With whispered breath, then and even now as he stood in broad daylight, he whispered "Tack!"
The bow turned in sinister posture, it's own fingers poised in readiness to deal what Inigo hoped would be the death blow. Masters at arms notched their guns once, as were his instructions, and readied their fire on their scepters. The monster loomed closer gathering itself for another spat. He whispered, "Ready", and one gun fired, its voice harsh in contrast. The distance was verified and Inigo shouted "Fire!" The "Ship of Fate" unleashed its fury.
The stone was no match for the metal, as the rain of cannon shot rained down. Fires sourced at the target momentarily illuminated the oncoming metal, making them ghostly red specters coming to take away the souls of those who would see them. Destruction, violence, despair and elation, silence. The waters, Inigo mused, mirrored more then just vision. It mirrored his heart.
In two volleys, the port was destroyed beyond repair, and the way open for his crew to take what they needed, take what was now theirs, take it all. It was perfect.
A perfect trap. Such a waste, and yet a holy humbling experience.
"Captain Santiago," a voice called to him, echoing off the remaining walls around him, "you have been found guilty of piracy, heracy, and high treason. Do you have anything to say before sentence is carried out?"
Inigo did not care for these words; they were not as soft as a woman’s caress, nor as hard as guns at night. It was a whimper. However, he did speak, his last stab at the evil, his last calculation.
"Tack..."
Balls of death, Inigo thought. He dealt with balls of death. It was fitting he would be done in by them. It was fitting that his commands would be finished for him.
"Ready!"
"Fire!"
Inigo stood in front of the huge monstrosity, and sighed. The tattered rags on his weakened body fluttered like a flag. It caressed his blistered skin. How very serene this place turned out to be.
He knew where he was. The waves crashing onto the shores gave him subtle hints, as did the whispers of the salty air. He no longer had eyes to see the old outpost, but he knew what it looked like. Before, as a dark monster creeping into the sea with burning eyes and many mouths spewing fire, and after, as a burning beacon in the night lighting the way to all souls who were freed that night.
It was a night of metal, and of wood, and of cold calculations. Aye, that was his purpose that night. With stylus and compass and other instruments at his disposal, he had managed the impossible and found the sentinel in the greedy darkness. He edged the "Ship of Fate" upon the sleeping giant. Was it a matter of simply killing with blade, slitting the throat, he could have done the deed and passed back into the night without such as a whimper. But this, this required violence.
With corals and dunes flagged to avoid and a solution found in the left bosom of the bay, the attack began. Like a dog barking a challenge across an empty town street, the guns fired, one by one, verifying distance. The fourth and fifth stuck true, and their masters shouted out their knicks for the last five. The guns belched fire and powder.
Moderate damage was the report. Inigo remembered how stubbornly he repressed the feeling to execute the new tack, to bring the right hand of justice to bear. But he waited, there was too much at stake. This was a science, not only of the mechanical, but of the mind as well. He waited, and his crew waited along with him.
At last, the lights in the distance burned as the evilness on shore became outraged, being attacked on it's own soil. It retaliated, balls of death reached out to a large portion of sea where Inigo imagined his vessel would have been had he given into his urges. A science of mechanics and mind, he thought. With whispered breath, then and even now as he stood in broad daylight, he whispered "Tack!"
The bow turned in sinister posture, it's own fingers poised in readiness to deal what Inigo hoped would be the death blow. Masters at arms notched their guns once, as were his instructions, and readied their fire on their scepters. The monster loomed closer gathering itself for another spat. He whispered, "Ready", and one gun fired, its voice harsh in contrast. The distance was verified and Inigo shouted "Fire!" The "Ship of Fate" unleashed its fury.
The stone was no match for the metal, as the rain of cannon shot rained down. Fires sourced at the target momentarily illuminated the oncoming metal, making them ghostly red specters coming to take away the souls of those who would see them. Destruction, violence, despair and elation, silence. The waters, Inigo mused, mirrored more then just vision. It mirrored his heart.
In two volleys, the port was destroyed beyond repair, and the way open for his crew to take what they needed, take what was now theirs, take it all. It was perfect.
A perfect trap. Such a waste, and yet a holy humbling experience.
"Captain Santiago," a voice called to him, echoing off the remaining walls around him, "you have been found guilty of piracy, heracy, and high treason. Do you have anything to say before sentence is carried out?"
Inigo did not care for these words; they were not as soft as a woman’s caress, nor as hard as guns at night. It was a whimper. However, he did speak, his last stab at the evil, his last calculation.
"Tack..."
Balls of death, Inigo thought. He dealt with balls of death. It was fitting he would be done in by them. It was fitting that his commands would be finished for him.
"Ready!"
"Fire!"