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[Kagus]

Hey, here's an idea.  If you temporarily remove part of the bow (not for the story, of course.  Just the intermediate period), the waves might come a bit closer instead of just smacking into the wall.  If a dwarf spends enough time getting pushed about by waves (they don't seem to mind this, by the way), they'll start getting some swimming skill.

Also, why are you throwing fish overboard?

[valcon]

quote:Originally posted by Kagus:
<STRONG>Hey, here's an idea.  If you temporarily remove part of the bow (not for the story, of course.  Just the intermediate period), the waves might come a bit closer instead of just smacking into the wall.  If a dwarf spends enough time getting pushed about by waves (they don't seem to mind this, by the way), they'll start getting some swimming skill.

Also, why are you throwing fish overboard?</STRONG>

I had to clear out some barrels for the booze!  =)

Also, as for the waves, I would do that, but the water that washes up on the deck accumulates and causes problems as well as looking kinda lame.

However, if you REALLLLY want, I could be persuaded to add a swimming pool to one of the decks on the ship, pumping 3/7 water or so into a little chamber with a ladder down into it so the salty dogs could get their swimming up.  Probably be better than sentencing them to chinese saltwater torture

[ March 07, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[Kaelem Gaen]

(On a side note, can movies only be recorded in the default font?)

[valcon]

Terribly sorry for the wait, I had to go out of town yesterday.  

Here is the next entry in the fateful (believe me, fateful!) journey of the brave crew of the pirate ship Bellsmaw:

1st Limestone, 1058, Mid-Autumn:

The waves break over the deck of the Bellsmaw, shattering on the mighty bow as if a thousand splinters of glass.  Gulls circle in the morning sun, trailing in her foamy wake, eyes keen for the splash of fish guts strewn overboard.  

Jaina walks the deck, searching for leaks in the bulkheads.  She moves from siege weapon to siege weapon, carefully inspecting the craftsdwarfsship on the modified rails.  'A year without a cave', she thinks, smiling, 'a year living surrounded by the massive frame of molded tree trunks'.  Her eyes, timber brown and speckled with sea green, never could find comfort in a cold smooth stony surface, unyielding and cruel, cold and dead.  He hands can feel the warmth in the wood as it soaks up the suns rays, and --

"ASSEMBLE!"  

Jaina turns, unconsciously leaving her hand on the warm oaken railing until it is out of reach while she steps across the deck to form up at the base of the stairs to the captains lodge.

The shipwright watches as the crew come to deck, tanned and muscled, glistening with sweat, their beard ends frayed by the salty winds.  Even The Professor has an earthy brown tone to him, and he does not stumble nor reach for support while moving swiftly through the tumbling ropes on the gently rocking deck.  

Skipper comes out first, logbook in hand, bespectacled and looking weary.  The Captain has been in her bunk for 3 days now, planning and plotting.  Their holds were still well stocked with booze and food, but the ample space reserved for plunder was a yawning empty chasm, a reminder each day that the crews cut of the pay so far was 1/12th of nothing.

Kalen emerges from her chambers, not looking weary in the slightest.  Her hat is crisped and her cave swallow dress is glistening with fish oil like the day it was crafted.  

"Crew, one long year has passed," She says, calmly, descending the steps slowly, Skipper following in tow.  "You've proven yourself competent sailors.  All of you.  Even you," she says, grabbing The Professors shoulder and squeezing it tightly.  "You've learned the stars and the sea, and you've managed not to be thrown overboard.  Yet."  

Jaina chuckles with the rest of the crew, thinking, 'she wants us to laugh, but I doubt I'm alone in having to force it a bit.'

Insincere thoughts still in her head, Kalen comes to stand in front of Jaina as if homing in on her silent protest.

"You've done a fine job working our lady Bellsmaw into a Warship, Jaina.  Be proud, for your name and hers will soon be whispered quietly in every tavern in every town on this miserable rock."

"Bob, I don't care if you're beardless.  Your siege weapons are a fine addition to the ship and will strike fear and ... hopefully ... giant wooden stakes into the hearts of our enemies."  Another laugh erupts, this time genuine.  Bob grins ear to ear, unconsciously leaning towards Boucher until their shoulders touch.  She smiles at him, gently, proud of her lovers work and deserving praise.

           

"The ship is ready, crew," Kalen announces, sweeping her hand wide as if in a final approval of every nail, screw, and bolt.

           

"Crew", Kalen says, turning her back on them, "we have our first target,"

"But we have a problem." Kalen continues, pivoting on her heels, staring down her nose at the assembled mates.  

"The ship is ready.  You," she says, moving her eyes slowly from dwarf to dwarf, "are not."

Sigurd grunts in disapproval as the rest of the crew shift their weight nervously.  

"You are sailors, that's for sure.  But sailors only move ships.  I need dwarves who can TAKE ships.  Dwarves that can grapple, board, fight and survive not just on the high seas but low in the belly of the beast."

Q-Tip senses Sigurds rising viking rage at the implication that he cannot fight and gives him a knowing gaze, silently asking her lumbering friend to let it go.  She could tell that the crafty Kalen was up to something.

"Who among you is the finest warrior?"  

Sigurd steps forward before she has finished her sentence, unclasping his axe behind his neck.  None of the others move to challenge him.

"Go ahead," Kalen says, lazily looking out onto the hazy horizon.  "Pull out your axe."  Sigurd obeys, gladly.  

"Kill me, then," Kalen orders, softly, still gazing out into the waves.  

The viking pauses only for a moment before reaching up and drawing his axe from his back, and charging at his captain.

Q-Tip watches in horror as he brings his axe about, clearly intending to sever his unarmed captains head clean off.  

Q-Tip blinks, squeezing hard, expecting a gush of warm blood to paint her face.  

THWAP, and a series of tinkling clanks ring out.  Q-Tip opens her eyes to see Sigurd's axe skittering across the deck, shining and bloodless as the day it was forged.  She looks over to see Kalen standing where she had been, unphased, as if she had not moved.  Sigurd, however, is curled up around the jib line spindle, obviously confused, his nose streaming blood onto his braided tentacled beard.  

"Men," Kalen says calmly, walking over to Sigurd and picking him up effortlessly, defying his bulky mass.  "You need to learn to FIGHT!"

[ March 08, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[Xotes]

CRAP! Ignore this.

[ March 08, 2008: Message edited by: Xotes ]

[Xotes]

quote:Originally posted by valcon:
<STRONG>
THWAP, and a series of tinkling clanks ring out.  Q-Tip opens her eyes to see Sigurd's axe skittering across the deck, shining and bloodless as the day it was forged.  She looks over to see Kalen standing where she had been, unphased, as if she had not moved.  Sigurd, however, is curled up around the jib line spindle, obviously confused, his nose streaming blood onto his braided tentacled beard.  

"Men," Kalen says calmly, walking over to Sigurd and picking him up effortlessly, defying his bulky mass.  "You need to learn to FIGHT!"

[ March 08, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]</STRONG>

That... is just made of awesome, right there.

[valcon]

10th Limestone, Autumn, 1058:

   

Duncana climbs the last step above the captains bunk onto the flat space overlooking the ocean.  

Why Kalen wants them to spar here, she cannot fathom.  'I've never even held a sword,' she thinks, 'how the hell am I going to manage to even survive sparring with a heavy steel blade in heavy steel armor with a massive shield on a churning ship without even so much as a rail to stop me from flying overboard?'

Pausing at the edge of the platform, she can see the same thoughts echoed back to her in her companions eyes.  Madness.

A fierce shove comes from behind, pushing her out onto the platform and spoiling her tenuous balance.  She loses grip of her sword and shield in favor of collapsing to the planks, hugging them tightly as she watches waves breaking below her nose.  

"Alright, maggots," Kalen says, stepping none too gently directly across Duncanas prone steel clad carcass.  "You're gonna need to be able to take more than a shove on the edge of a ship."  

"You're going to need to fight without rails.  You need scars," She says, flashing her tooth marked arm at the crew.  "I'm going to make PIRATES out of you sailors."

"Q-TIP, you busty whore," Kalen booms out, grinning.  "You've got a nice mace there.  I want you to break open Sigurd's face for making you chop those fish heads."

"But Cap, it's o--"  

"I said BREAK HIS FUCKING FACE, bitch!"  Kalen interrupts, drawing her sword and marching steadily across the planks towards little Q-Tip.

Sigurd says nothing as he unclasps his axe.  He looks at Q-Tip with resignation in his eyes.  "I try not kill," he grunts.

Kalen lets out a throaty laugh, her eyes alight that the game is on.  

"GO!"

The viking moves slowly towards Q-Tip as she ponders the next move.  Sea salt licks at her heels as the massive wall of leather clad muscle and rage moves towards her.  She moves up, anywhere but near the edge, directly into the vikings reach.  

Q-Tip strikes out a quick slap, her spiked mace making a pathetic plopping sound against Sigurd's mammoth biceps.  "HA!" Kalen bursts out.

Sigurd slowly brings the axe about, clearly giving Q-Tip enough warning to reposition herself, which she barely manages before his axe cleaves the air beside her.  Sigurd glances to Kalen as he does so, knowing he will earn nothing but reproach, but never expected the depth of the glare nor the awfulness of her words.

"Look at this fancy, prancy, fucking, ELF swishing around my ship!" Kalen shouts out, laughing.  The rest of the crew nervously attempt to stifle laughter at the stinging reproach.  

Sigurd moves his eyes back to Q-Tip, but he's lost his resignation.  His eyes are blank and cold, veins slowly emerging from his neck and forehead.  His chest heaves with mighty breaths as he plods towards Q-Tip, a deadly berserker rage of red spreading across his sweaty face.  Q-Tip brings up her mace like some kind of holy ward against a demonic invader, all sense of her location lost as she steps away from the unstoppable mass of hate steaming towards her.

"RrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGH!"  

Like a bronze colossus bottled up into a dwarven frame, the mighty viking charges into Q-Tip, his axe knocking her mace out of her hands and spinning it into the ocean.  He smashes into her, the butt of his axe coming up under her jaw nearly popping the eyes out of her skull.  The two tangle up in a mass and tumble off the edge of the ship ...

SMASH comes the sound up to the platform as the two crash into the main deck.  Kalen, devilish grin painting her bearded face as she and the crew stride towards the edge to see what damage has been done.  

Sigurd stands up slowly, shaking his head, axe still in hand.

The viking appears to be fine as he collects himself and heads back up the stairs, never looking to see what has become of Q-Tip.

   

Kalen looks down at Q-Tip, barely breathing, her left leg cocked out at an impossible angle.  Kalen turns, locks eyes with the rest of the crew, saying nothing.

They walk back towards the center of the platform.  Sigurd is visibly shaking, still.  Kalen places her hand on his massive shoulder.  

"You're no elf, mate."  she says softly, soothing him with her touch, "you need to remember that rage.  Keep it as your secret weapon, because when you are facing a REAL enem--"

"Give me a weapon."  

Kalen, not fond of surprises, slowly turns to see Q-Tip, bloody and bruised, her face still in the process of puffing up, grasping the railing to climb the stairs, her left leg flopping behind her.

   

"Hold there lassie," Kalen says, arms outstretched.  "I see you're point, and I am duly impressed.  You're no use to me dead, though.  Go below and see that Boucher gets you some fresh water, eh?"  

"Aye, cap'n," Q-Tip says weakly, her head held high, pride in her voice.  

The crew stare at her, many mouths agape as she turns to head down the stairs, nearly crumpling with every step.  

"You see that?"  Kalen says, beaming.  "Now that's a fucking PIRATE."

"Now, FIGHT!"

(OOC, Q-Tip really did immediately charge back up the stairs and attempt to spar again after being tossed off with Sigurd.  I had to intervene, or she surely would've died.)

[ March 08, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[Dasqoot]

Go Q-tip, SMASH HIS FACE!

[Fenrir]

I love how you describe Sigurd. ☼AWESOME☼!

[valcon]

Glad you liked it Fenrir, but, I'm merely reporting the goings on.

I know I haven't gotten in depth with all of the crew members, but, BEAR WITH ME:

More is coming, and everyone plays a part.  

Telling this story has proved more difficult than I had thought.  The nature of the fort is such that I must create a narrative without the constant comings and goings of immigrants, or creation of massive trades deals or monoliths or temples or mausoleums.  Our 12 dwarves are confined to a relatively tiny area with very few materials to work with and absolutely NO unsolicited outside contact.  

I've got a few more updates coming today though, and I promise every dwarf will have their say.

[valcon]

**Editors note, I've renamed the thread due to the recent discovery of the name of the ocean on which we are currently sailing.  I hope none object or have any trouble finding the thread!

Here is a map of the surrounding area.  The world is a 33x33 size.  The ocean is listed as Haunted and the land is Terrifying.

 

**

Next update coming momentarily.

[ March 08, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[valcon]

The Professor sits in his bunk, sharpening his spear tip.  His arms ache and burn as if they were filled with magma.  The ship creaks and groans around him as the frosty winter winds pace through the decks, a ghost in search of a way home.

The young dwarf hasn't touched his sextant in months.  Kalen has had him on the deck of the ship, slipping around in sea foam and bloodstains learning to handle his weapon.  He rocks back in his chair peering down the mahogany shaft of his well crafted spear, imagining the bullies from the temple of Iteg, taunting him for his weakness and pushing him off the ledge into the gangrenous pestilent waters of the church fountain.

   

The boys from the temple would never touch him now.  His once frail arms are massive pipes, and his spear is now an agent of his unholy mistress.

"Session!  Duncana, Professor!"  Comes the cry from the Skipper, now arena master more than first mate.  

Professor walks the halls on the churning deck, hearing the groans of his crewmates wounded during their rigorous training sessions.  Q-Tip still wallows with a broken leg delivered by Sigurd.  Sigurd himself is moaning in the next room over, himself badly wounded after a session with The Professors next opponent, Duncana.  The former quartermistress had given up her logbooks completely, happily walking the path of the sword.  Sigurd had learned the hard way that brute force can be diverted with agility and had found himself flying, alone this time, and with no cushy dwarven wench to pad his fall, down to the deck below.

The Professor remembers Duncana standing over the wounded viking, staring down at his bloodied frame, beaming with pride.

   

   

Boucher, when not cozying up to the now more trustworthy beardless one, has become something of the ships nurse.  She delivers water and food to the wounded, carrying bloodied and broken dwarves below to heal while the dangerous training continues above.  She walks past the professor, bucket of water in hand, heading for Q-Tip's bunk.  

"See ye soon, laddie," she says sweetly, winking at the Professor with a knowing gaze.  

   

He had been lucky, thus far, but he feared Boucher may be right.  Duncana was quickly gaining a reputation for putting dwarves out of action, pleasing Kalen greatly.  

On his way up to the deck, he passed Horatio, sitting alone in the galley, nursing a mug of grog, his nicked and bent steel sword tossed on the table like a drinking buddy after a bender.  Horatio grabs at The Professors arm as he passes, not looking up from his drink.  

"She's lost it."  He says.  "She's ginna crip'l es all, a'ar.  Kalen's poisoned  'er mind, mate, an' she's buying inta all dis bloody scars and broken bones rubbish as if'n it will help us.  Ahaar, when she's done wit' us, a merchant ship'll be able te take us out, for we will all be curled up in our bunks begging for water like li'l beebies instead of fighting and able."

The Professor looks down at Horatio.  His arms are covered in minor nicks and cuts, smears of week old blood at the tips of his pig tail shirt.  Horatio looks up and locks eyes with him.  

"I tried, mate.  Ye hav' te do et."

The Professor tugs at his arm, breaking Horatio's grip.  He's become less fond of taking orders, particularly when they do not come from his captain.  He storms up the deck, pausing only a moment to look back as Horatio sinks his head back to his mug, destitute and weary.  Horatio has become a fine swordsman in the previous weeks, and if he couldn't find a way to take Duncana out of action, then The Professor would be hard put to do it himself.  

Gripping his spear firmly and charging up the steps, he went to face Duncana.  

'Mistress of death', he prays, meeting her eyes steadily, 'I give myself to you.  Allow me to be a vessel of your plague.  Let me cripple this upstart for the good of the ship that we may spread your plague across the lands as you would have it.'

Kalen is nowhere to be seen.  She's been busy in her bunk, only stopping to see the wounded on occasion and deliver water, assuring them that their time out of action is well spent.  Skipper stands on the edge, his logbook in hand, ready to record the outcome for his master.

Duncana does not wait for Skipper to give the call, she charges at The Professor the moment both his feet are on the level deck.  Professor brings up his spear close to his chest, aiming for her cruel heart.  'I give myself', he prays, waiting, 'to you.'  

Duncana slaps his spear aside, The Professor allowing himself to look open to attack.  He watches calmly as Duncana flashes her gnarled teeth and slides her blade into his arm, disregarding any possible rules of fairplay.  He continues praying as he calmly watches the blade sink through his flesh, allowing her to come nose to nose with him, impaled through his arm.  He uses the leverage to turn the spear around, digging it's point into her lower body with his remaining strength before losing it to stuck in her back, a lake of blood bubbling up around it.

Skipper watches as blood flies across his shoes.  A familiar sight.  He's stopped cleaning them.  His life is a world of dwarven blood and fishes guts.  

The Professor lets out a mighty roar as he grabs the shocked Duncana.  She kicks at his knees as he lifts her off the deck, her sword still pierced straight through his arm.  She watches in horror as he squeezes with all his might, tipping over backwards onto the deck, her head streaming towards the ground like a catapult round.  The last thing she sees before losing consciousness is her own blood spreading out like a shockwave in her field of vision, ever shrinking as darkness closes in.

The Professor stands up calmly.  He grabs Duncana's blade and pulls it out of his arm, a slow and ghastly affair.  Blood shoots out across ropes and tie lines.  Professor drops the blade at Duncana's feet.  "A plague on BOTH our wounds," he prays aloud, as the Skipper calmly jots down notes.

   

Clutching his arm, The Professor passes Horatio on his way down, blood painting his footsteps.   Horatio looks up from his grog, saddened to see The Professor wounded as he had expected.  

"It's done."  The Professor softly grunts, not stopping.  Horatio drops his mug, his eyes opened wide.  Justice?  Revenge, at last?  Surely Duncana escaped major injury ...

Horatio awaits the call from Skipper to duel Duncana again, refusing to believe that the once weak professor had managed to do what he had failed so many times.

Instead, he is shocked to hear a call for Boucher.  "BOUCHER!  Bring some rope, she can't walk!"

Horatio hops up in a flash, eager to see his nemesis crippled at last.  He stops halfway up to the deck, looking back at his sword on the gypsum table as it calls to him, 'finish her ...'.  'No,' he thinks, 'not yet.'  

He lights up the stairs, Boucher on his heels.  

A massive grin spreads across his face at the carnage awaiting him.

   

He is unable to gather the full extent of her wounds, but, aside from the spear embedded in her back, he can see that she is unconscious and her neck is swollen and cocked to the left.  'Oh please, let it be over,' he prays as Boucher runs to grab the wounded dwarf.

   

"Don't touch her!" Boucher cautions, kneeling in the mass of blood.  "Her neck is broken.  Bring me some rope and a plank of wood, I need to set it before she wakes up or she'll be crippled for life."  Boucher's medical abilities were known across the ship and not one dwarf held a grudge against the brave girl.  Horatio did as she asked, even though he wished Duncana the life of a cripple, he did not wish to displease the only one on board who would be willing to help him should he himself be wounded.

[ March 08, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[ March 08, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[valcon]

Of course, he was.  Over the next few months, they all were.  Turns were spent under the ships decks, each dwarf bedridden with one massive wound or another.

Horatio and Jaina had become sparring partners and fast friends in the wake of the decommissioning of Duncana.  They'd shared their licks, Horatio nearly crippling Jaina's spine, receiving in turn a heavy wound to his sword-arm.

   

   

Sigurd had recovered from his wounds, but the loss of blood had appeared to damage his already lacking mental faculties.  

   

As the days grew longer and the spring approached, the salty crew was transformed from sailors into pirates indeed.

Q-Tip managed to heal up from her wounds, leaving only a slight limp in her leg and a crook in her back.  

   

Fishgut Led had become a dangerous bastard with his salty blade.  He'd cut up anyone in his path until the brain damaged Sigurd had managed to toss him a good twenty feet off the dueling platform and into the main mast of the ship.  

Led had no trouble recovering from the injury, though, for he was to be remembered as not only the most dangerous fisherman on the high seas, but one of the greatest, saltiest, toughest swordsdwarves to ever walk a ship.

Kalen was pleased with the injuries amongst her dwarves.  They were stronger, tougher, and full of piss and grog the way pirates ought to be.  She would soon have to put them to the test, though Horatio and The Professor were still out of action, for their ship would need to resupply before attacking their next target.  The spring air brought harsh portents with it, as the crew made to dock in a nearby fishing village.

[ March 08, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[valcon]

(If I can do anything to spruce it up or make it better, let me know, I'm giving her my all!  )

1, Granite, 1059, Early Spring:

The dread ship Bellsmaw and her devil dog pirate crew docked at a tiny island off the mainland peninsula.  Kalen had sent a native boy to head to the village center and request a trade caravan be dispatched to their ship.  

She'd ordered all of the skull and bones be brought down, replaced with the flags of the local government.  

While they awaited the arrival of the innocent natives, Kalen and Skipper took stock of the situation.

"How many unable to walk?"  

"Just 2, cap, Horatio and The Professor are still out.  Imp has trained Beardless Bob to be quite the sniper with a crossbow as well, so you can count him among our combat ready."

"Excellent.  How many are proficient with their weapons?"

"All but Q-Tip sir, she's only healed up two days ago and hasn't had a chance to get back up to spar again."

           

"Wonderful, we should be able to handle these traders easily."  Skipper wasn't sure if Kalen had planned to rob them, but wasn't surprised at it either.  The captains ruthlessness was evidenced by the stains of blood over every square foot of wood on the ship these days.

"Trader's, Cap!"  Imp called down from the crow's nest.  

"Get the men on deck, Skip.  No armor, have them tuck their blades away until I give the order.  Tell Bob and Imp to stay fast on the crows nest and be ready to plug anybody that gets in our way.  No fighting until they're fully aboard the ship, you got it?"

The crew assembled on the deck, some of them scrubbing, others bringing a few useless scraps of wood in bins to the virgin trade depot as though preparing to make a deal.  Kalen left her giant warhammer in her bunk as it would be entirely too large to conceal from the traders eye's, but she was not worried for she was deadly enough with her bare hands.  With Imp and Bob providing cover, this should prove to be a very profitable 'trade'.

Kalen ordered the gang plank lowered and the traders began pulling their carts aboard, the village emissary meeting Kalen at the depot.  "A fine ship," he offered, his eyes perusing the conspicuous masses concealed by drapes of macaque leather.  Siege weapons had been ordered covered, though their bulky mass was hardly unrecognizable.

Kalen gave him a toothy grin, her eyes sparkling as she watched the traders bring up crate after crate of food and booze and treasure, already counting the plunder in her mind --

Her grin dissolved into a frosty glare as she watched a group of caravan guards emerge from behind the last of the wagons.  4 armored dwarves with massive hammers trailed by 2 crossbowmen, quivers full and glittering, their trained eyes flickering across the deck, accounting for every one of her men.  

'Son of Armok, they knew we weren't merchants ...', she thought, furious.  'One of my men must've tipped them off, we've got a bloody traitor aboard!'

The emissary, seeing her rage and confusion, stepped up and offered, "Madam trader, we do not wish to offend you with our guards.  The island has seen a sharp increase in vicious Kobold ambushes.  The mongrels have begun carrying spears and traveling in packs, attacking anyone with anything of value.  I assure you our guards are here only for your protection."

Kalen, instead of being relieved, was far more infuriated at the thought of some yokel fisherdwarf offering to assist HER and HER ship.  Her heart raced as she imagined grabbing the emissaries head and reaching her hand down his throat to grab out his heart and toss it to the gulls.  As the guards came on deck and set up positions around the depot, though, she quelled her rage.  She must try and make the best of this.  Even if they couldn't take ALL of the supplies, they NEEDED some of them.

Kalen yelled to her dwarves, "Grab our trade goods boys, and make it snappy, we're quite safe here!"  The crew was well aware of the situation and scurried down below to bring up as much as they could.  

While the men were offloading, Kalen paced the deck, walking by the plank, her eye on the lever.  She would certainly be able to ...

"KOBOLDS!"  Imp shouted from above, alarm bells ringing.  

           

Kalen turned to her right, staring across the plank as 5 kobolds, spears in hand, rushed towards her.  A bat ray bolt hissed down from above, piercing the first one's head and knocking him clean off the plank.  The remaining four were unphased and heading directly at her.  

Kalen grabbed the spear tip thrust at her chest and tugged with all her might, sending the startled Kobold careening into the trade depot where the guards pounced on him.  Kalen now stood alone, unarmed, in front of two agile kobolds, their spear tips weaving in her face as the foolish guards behind her took their time bludgeoning the one she'd thrown them.

The first kobold lunged at her and she grabbed his spear, pulling him close, head butting him and splattering his canine nose.  She leaned back to place her foot on his chest, but the other Kobold made a swift move and she suddenly felt a searing pain in her face.  Heaving with her foot at the first kobold, she kicked him off the plank, her vision fading and turning red.  'Has this mongrel killed me?' she though, stumbling backwards, blinded.  "EEAAH, KILL THEM!"  Kalen shouts out, her hands grasping her face as she collapses onto the deck.

The guards and her crew stream out across the plank, bolts hissing over their shoulders and perforating the remaining kobold like a porcupine, his body cleaned into a dozen pieces as he fell into the shallows below.

Skipper had been hiding in the depot during the action, clutching his logbook, but at the sound of Kalens scream he rushes out to her aid.  

She was sitting on the deck, blood streaming down her face, her hands blocking him from seeing where she was hurt.  He bit his tongue as he kneeled towards her and saw that blood was streaming out between the cracks in her fingers.  He felt weak and faint, lost and alone without his captain in charge and livid.  

"Captain!  Here let me--"

"No, finish the trade and leave me be, you fucking worthless cronie!"  Kalen hissed, turning away from him and slowly standing.  

Boucher came up from below decks, "Captain can I--," she offered, clean rags and water in hand.  "Leave me be!"  Kalen hissed again, still clutching her face.  

Skipper, his heart in his throat, turned back to the traders.  

He halfheartedly filled out the ledger and reached a decidedly unpirately deal with the locals.  After signing the sheafs of papers, he walked out onto the deck to see that Kalen has disappeared.  Skipper wanted to go to her side, but knew that she would rebuke him for it.  He stood and watched as the traders began packing up their goods and heading for the plank.

"Thank you, boys!"  Kalen shouted, coming down from the deck, a wet rag pressed up against her face, red with fresh blood.  "Thank you SO much for saving us from those dastardly kobolds!"  Skipper winced at her sardonic tone, checking to see if the traders had taken offense.  The guards waited, their eyes hawkishly watching her as she came to apparently see them off.

"Good day to you and a good journey to your dwarves!"  The emissary said back, his voice twittering as he pored over the trade dividends.  A fine deal, they'd made.  

"No, no!"  Kalen shouted back, all kindness drained from her voice.  "Good journey to YOU!" She said, as she walked purposefully towards the plank.  Skippers jaw dropped as he watched his captain, not believing what he was seeing with his own eyes.

(click movie link before proceeding ^_^)

Skipper balked as Kalen swiftly delivered her thanks to the merchant villagers.

"I will come back for the rest of you!"  Kalen shouted as the remaining traders broke like a pack of rats, fleeing from the carnage, screaming.  Imp fired off a few bolts halfheartedly, ensuring that they did not turn back to attempt retribution.  

Kalen, her back turned to the deck, threw the bloody rag out across to the dock, cursing the traders as they fled.

The crew assembled behind her, glad that the ordeal had ended.  

Kalen turned to them, slowly.  The crew attempted to hide their horror at the sight of her face.

           

Her left eye was a bloody mess, a black hole of gore and bits of bone and puss.  Boucher held her tongue, ready to assist if the captain needed it, but sensing that she was not ready to be helped just yet.

Kalen stood firm, unshaken, her remaining eye moving from dwarf to dwarf, the gaping hole in her face visible for all to see.

"You see what happens", she said calmly, daring them to look into the gaping socket, "When we are not prepared?"  

Salty gusts of seafoam touched at the hole but Kalen did not flinch.  She even managed a bit of a grin.  "We've all given our blood to this journey, now."  She reported, blandly.  "We are all in this, together as one.  From now on, we are PIRATES, always and forever, and TO THE DEATH!"

The crew gave a hurrah as Kalen ordered them to shove off.  She grabbed Fishgut Led and asked him to craft her an eyepatch out of some fine leather, letting Boucher touch at the wound with a rag.  "Get that rag away from me wench, I don't need water, I need grog!"  Boucher smiled at her weakly, trying hard not to look at the hole in her captains face.

The Bellsmaw, bloodier than ever, began to pull up the anchor.  Kalen went to her quarters to ponder the days events.  Skipper was off somewhere, doing god knows what.  She called for him to join her.  She would ask him to do some clerical work, but really, she wished for his company.  Things were not going exactly as she had planned.

"Skipper!"  She called out, sitting at her desk, placing her hand over her empty eye socket.  

He did not come.  

"SKIPPER!"  She shouted, impatiently.  

Moments later he ran up the stairs and burst into the room.  "Captain," he started, a look of concern on his face.  

"Oh stow it you pansy, it's fine, I've still got one left.  Pull up a chair an--"

"No, Captain ... That's not what I was going to say."  

Kalen waited, perturbed.

"OUT WITH IT then!"  She ordered.

"Sir, you need to ..." he paused, glancing at her eye socket, "see this yourself ..."

Kalen grunted as she stood up, following her first mate out onto the deck.  

"What on earth could you possibly be," she began, as he led her across the deck.  

They stopped, her eye on the back of Skipper's head as he refused to turn to face her.

"WHAT?"  She demanded, furious.

"Look, Cap."  Skipper responded, his voice faint.  

           

"Oh my blood god ..." Kalen whispered, her eyes staring down at the empty well.  They must've leaked some overboard, or perhaps all these wounded dwarves had sapped their supplies sooner than she had planned.  

"How many are still wounded?" Kalen asked.

"Two, cap.  Horatio and the Professor."

"Shit," Kalen cursed, "FUCK!"

***

Horatio sat up in his bunk, his arm burning.  He'd been having a nightmare.  He'd dreamt that a great shark had bit his arm off and thrown him into a barren desert and he'd been picked to pieces by hungry scarabs.  The lanterns stood still, a sign that they hadn't left port yet.  Horatio was wondering about then when he heard The Professor moaning in the next room over.  Nightmares were common amongst the wounded dwarves and their moans were frequent sights.  

"Waater," came the raspy voice from The Professors room.  Horatio heard Boucher trundle by, ever diligent for her charges well being.  Horatio leaned back into his bed, glad to have her services.  He closed his eyes, nearly drifting off before they shot open again at the sound of Boucher's tortured wail.

     

[ March 09, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[Retro42]

!!!  The Professor is no wimp after all!  Appartently he lives up to the "Mad" part quite well.

Note:  Didn't get a chance to read any of the last updates til now.  Been out of town.

Retro

Edit:  Just missed your last post.  Eyepatch for Kalen then?  We just need to steal a few exotic pets from the elves and we are set then!  No water though....*sigh* hope I don't go out so meekly after the impressive fight.

[ March 08, 2008: Message edited by: Retro42 ]