Old August 30, 2011, 02:10 AM   #1 (permalink)
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[The Ocean] The Sea is Rising (private)

Morning, The Final Brightening of Imperos, Summer, PFXVIII


Ogden swore.

That wasn't anything new, he'd been cursing and swearing for the last several candlemarks, but it made him feel better. This fething sloop was falling apart and he was a long way from the island. The boat was too bashed, the storm had torn a good hole in the sail and he had serious doubts about the integrity of the hull at the port stern. In fact he had hears seawater sloshing around when he went below deck to tear the boat apart looking for loot. And loot he had found. Sort of. The mask had been fascinating. The whiskey even more so. There hadn't been much else. He only had his butchers clothes, a few crowns from his rounds before the storm hit, and some salted pork and fresh water.

He stood at the bow, peering at the horizon. He thought he could make out a smudge, but whether it was the island or a remnant storm cloud, he hadn't the foggiest. All he knew was that he was heading the right direction by the suns.

Behind him the sail flapped, torn strips of canvas fluttering in the wind. He turned and stared angrily at the wheel. The rudder chain on this thing was slipping a cog somewhere, and he had to spin the wheel an obscene distance to get any response. Not that it mattered, he'd trimmed the sails and tied the boom so that the wind was pushing him steadily in the direction he wanted to go. He would have killed for a few oarsmen. He leaned on the gunnel.

It broke beneath him, nearly sending him into the ocean. He wasn't scared of drowning, but he was sick of being wet at the moment. Instead Ogden pinwheeled and staggered backwards, sitting down hard on the forecastle.

"This. Piece. Of. FETHING SEA SPAWNED GARBAGE!"

He leaped tohis feet, rounded on the mast and vented his frustrations of the remains of the corpse that hung there. When he was done, the air was blue from his cursing, the whole damn boat was smeared with blood, and his cleaver arm was tired and red up to the elbow. He stood there, panting, willing something to go wrong.

Above him the mast creaked, and some of the rigging collapsed.

That was when Ogden saw the sail. It was on the horizon as a blob of white with a Secyclid flag, not very large judging by how close it was when it appeared. Maybe a double mast if he was lucky, a single if he was luckier. Single masted sloops were typically easier to pilot alone. If he was really lucky, it would be a merchantman or a pleasure boat, and not that blasted local bunch of toe-touchers that called themselves the navy.

"Thank the gods."

He got to work, setting upon the fallen rigging with a vengeance. He sheared off some of the lines, and tied several chunks of cloth to it. Holding his cleaver in his teeth, he scaled the remaining ropes, and flew his flags.

A big white square with a blueish dot, a red and yellow square, and another big white square with a blueish dot. General naval signing for I NEED SOME FETHING HELP OVER HERE!

Ogden got busy, sliding down the sail and jamming his lucky cleaver into his 'belt.' He ripped apart the cabin until the seawater from the hull leak gushed in. He scooped it with a bucket, and began to douse the deck, washing the blood and bits into the sea for the sharks. He also cut down the corpses and tossed them overboard. Next was himself, he poured seawater over his head until he was reasonably less stained. He tied the mask around his shoulder and stuffed his food water and whiskey into his meat bag, ran to the gunnel, and began jumping up and down, waving.

He also yelled as only Ogden could, his voice booming across the waves. He was a big man, with large lungs.

"OI! I'M ADRIFT AND SINKIN OVER HERE!"

The trap was simple. Lure em close, get his ass hauled off the boat, wait until they had sailed away from the wreck, and then turn everyone on board into shark food. Ah how great it was to be a reaver.
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Old September 6, 2011, 08:25 AM   #2 (permalink)
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Markalin perhaps had showed Ogden mercy indeed for the wind brought his voice to the ship, as soon enough he could see it changing its bearings, turning course towards where he was. As the ship neared and neared he would gradually get a clearer and clearer view of the ship until at last he could make it out fully.

It was a sloop-class indeed, easily a merchant or a fishing ship, though from the looks of it, it might possibly the latter judging from all the nets and open barrels or crates upon it. The Secyclion flag flapped in the wind, high and proud on top her single mast indeed. Yes, single mast -- lucky Ogden. That being said, it was a small ship, the types that were used around the Eunesian Isles rather than sailing into the ends of the Kingdom.

On board so far, Ogden could glimpse three men, although intuition warned him, that there was probably more to her crew then met the eyes so far. They all look either Secyclids or Eunesians, what with their very dark olive skin (probably also severely tanned from life at sea) and dark curly hair.

"Chairete!" one of the greeted, his language and accent confirming his origins at last to be that of a Secyclid. "Chreiázeste voí̱theia?" he asked again, although he suddenly paused and peered curiously at the half caste of Vagaran and Secyclid blood, somewhat realizing now that the huge man was just half their fellow island man.

"Help?" he tried again, in thick-accented Common, taking guesses that perhaps this half breed did not know the tongue of his fatherland guessing from the faint shouting he heard earlier. Also the man looked... somehow strange too, to his eyes, appearing almost like a foreigner in behavior, speech and manner.

It wasn't the best of Common, but the message should be understood clear enough. He was asking if Ogden needs help, looking at his decrepit boat. And assuming the man needed it, already the other two had prepared a ladder rope to which they extend it over the side of the ship, towards Ogden, inviting him to come up.
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Old September 6, 2011, 05:12 PM   #3 (permalink)
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Ogden smiled viciously as the boat came into slightly clearer detail. Though he didn't like the smell of fish that much, there'd be plenty of food on that thing for the near future, and if there was one thing an ex butcher could do it was salt meat. Granted it was a smaller boat, likely just a cargo hold with a crew berth and galley, but it was better than swimming around. Besides, you could fit a good load of swag under there, and nobody ever suspected such a boat of carrying something like Ogden. Only fish. How threatening were fish? He could sail it by himself, and there was room for a few crew members too. Excellent.

He wiped his savage expression off his face, becoming Ogden the Butcher again. Panicked, stranded, his bilge compromised and filling with sea water, he was going to drown if they didn't haul his ass off the deck of this damn pleasure yacht. As the boat pulled along side him, Ogden waved, managing to look nervous and grateful at the same time. Ah, Secyclid. Ogden understood it well enough, he just chose to play dumb on the matter. He blinked at the sailor, until he spoke common.

Ogden Riptyde would have blistered the very air with his cursing at the idiotic question. Ogden the butcher could only nod and ramble.

"Damn boats falling apart underneath me! I don't wanna drown."

As the rope ladder hit the deck, Ogden was on it like a starving man on a cracker. Little did the fishermen realize what they'd pulled up. This was a far deadlier catch than they could ever know. As he tumbled over the edge of the gunnel he rose to his feet.

"Thanks for your help. I'm Arthur. Damn storm came in and washed me out of of port, kicked the crap out of my boat too, started taking on water this mornin and the mast has all but had it. Lost my bearings for the most part, I know which way to the island but not how far out I am."

His hands were itching to begin laying about with his cleaver, but he had to wait until he'd figured out how many crew there was and how far out from port they were.
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Old September 13, 2011, 01:03 PM   #4 (permalink)
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The trio smiled good-naturedly at him as they lowered the rope ladder, hold on to it and helped the big half breed onto their ship. Ogden was speaking the Common language way too fast and fluent for them to really catch him, all three having a poor grasp of the "mainland tongue", although they did nothing to let him know, perhaps not wanting to offend the man.

The ladder was rolled up and tucked into a corner by one of the man, before he busied himself resuming back to his task of sharpening the few harpoons lying about. The other male went back to the crates, filled to the brim with fish and other variety of maritime critters such as lobsters, crabs, prawns, clams, octopus and even a hammerhead shark or two, and a few manta rays, now Ogden was able to see their contents as clear as he would see his own eyeball in a mirror.

The two yelled Eunesian, chatting to each other in fact at the same time calling out for assistance from another person, the fourth, who was below deck. The fourth appeared, also Secyclid, but much older, much bigger -- big in the sense of his stomach. He was a man balding and had long lost the leanness of youth, although there was no denying the strength and muscles beneath the flesh of middle age as he came and simply single-handedly lifted one of the barrels aside for, what one could only assume that the fishermen were in the midst of shifting through and categorizing their catch. The old man only gave Ogden a look of askance and a slight, "Who is this" in Eunesian to the younger two before shrugging and going about his work.

"You sit down," the same male who had addressed Ogden earlier showed him a barrel to sit on. "... we give you water and food, when reach land. It no far," he pointed in a distance, and looking at his direction, over the vast blue water Ogden could spy small tiny black specks dotting the horizon ahead, a sign of a clutter of islands.

Port wasn't so far ahead it seems. There were four healthy and able bodied males on the boat, although they did not appear armed, save for the few sharp objects about like the harpoons, the knives meant to gut and pry the fishies, hooks to hang the sharks and rays, and a few other assortment of iron and steel meant more as tools rather than as weapons.
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Old September 21, 2011, 01:03 AM   #5 (permalink)
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Ogden looked into the earnest face of the man who offered him aid, and nodded. The big brute turned his back, and The Ogre rose to his feet.

"No need to sit."

His eyes had noted the harpoon almost the moment he got over the gunwale. Now he took two steady steps towards it and grabbed it with his left hand. He took another to the large brute, and with a powerful thrust of his arm, drove it as hard as he could at the fisherman's back. With a thunderous bellow he drew his cleaver and rounded on the man that had offered him food and water. He WOULD have food and water. He'd have their blood and bones, their wives, their boat, he'd have EVERYTHING. With savage strength, he brought the cleaver around in a downwards arc aimed at the man's head, aiming to split his skull down the middle.

If he struck, he'd then wrench the blade out of his target and round on the other two. He intended to drive them over the edge of the boat with a series of harrowing slashes. He wanted them to drown, to feel the cold kiss of the sea, for their last taste to be the salt water as it flooded their mouths and lungs. He wanted their last sight to be the waves, and their last sounds to be the deep roar of the ocean as it filled their ears. He would give them to the sea, he would let them drowned, and maybe if they were lucky they could rise again some brightening as he had. But not likely.
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Old October 11, 2011, 05:36 AM   #6 (permalink)
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The Secyclid's eyes widened the moment Ogden refused the stool and instead made a rush for the harpoon. But by then he had realized what was happening or what was about to happen, it was already too late. The brutish half-Secyclid have already manage to get his hands on the shaft of the long wooden object tipped off with metal, looking much like a spear save for the jagged side meant to latch on to flesh, and the rope attached to haul in the catch.

"Prosécho̱!!"watch out the man, the very one who had offered him aid, a seat, and refreshments yelled as Ogden attempted to use the harpoon to impale the old man.

Ogden would feel the resisting impact as he landed home, followed by the cry of agony and the sight of warm blood trickling, even as the weapon pierced through sinew, muscle, flesh and bone. It was not the large burly man however that he had successfully injured, but the young fisherman who had made that warning cry. He had hurled himself before the man, be it out of stupidity or noble intent, or simply due to sheer courageous instinct, and for that he paid the price although in doing so he had saved another. The harpoon had struck through the rib cage, and it did not take an experienced person to know that the blow had been fatal, as the unfortunate young man slipped to deck, the life extinguishing from his eyes.

One down, three to go.

Ogden have capitalized on the element of surprise, and manage to cull their numbers, but by now that element was over as all three have been alerted. The man who was sharpening the harpoon bellowed curses and a war cry as he handed the makeshift weapon to his companion, and they both rose from their seats, wielding the harpoon as if they were spears, with posture and footing that indicated not only were they used to fighting on sea but were trained in the usage of the traditional Secyclid weapon, the spear. And they began advancing towards Ogden carefully in what appeared to be almost as if in formation, a further testimony that these males, typical of Secyclion, had some form of martial or military training.

The old man however stood before Ogden, looking more enraged then shocked by the death of his comrade or should one say, son... as he yelled the boy's name with the kind of grievance only a father could have for his son. And then with a guttural roar he charged at Ogden, empty handed...
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