- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- Multiple posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- No Preferences
- Genres
- High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Somewhere off the far coast of the Kyzan Peninsula, the noonday sun had just managed to peek its way out from between a scattered layer of clouds. The deep blue water was calm, stirred only by a gentle wind, and the faint sparks from the reflection of the sun glinted against the waves.
In the distance, white sails began to rise on the horizon like little white clouds. A blue and gold ship gradually materialized along the horizon under the sails, traveling smoothly through the small waves. On the ship's deck, numerous people moved about like small ants, hauling ropes that caused the sails to twist further into the wind. Gradually, the prow of the ship began to turn, revealing a silhouette highlighted against the blue sky.
Perched somewhere in the middle of the wooden bowsprit, which stretched from the prow of the ship out far over the glistening blue water, a dark-haired man with a sand-colored overcoat and tall black boots was balanced among the swaying ropes of the jib sails. Despite the obvious precariousness of his location, he stood with confidence, back straight, knees slightly bent to absorb the motion from the swaying of the ship, one hand loosely curled around the rope that ran away behind him towards the foremast. His eyes scanned the horizon in front of the ship, back and forth across its dark line, even as it seemed like he was only ever an instant away from toppling into the water below.
Far more sturdily planted on the deck of the forecastle, a dark skinned young man with long dreads curled up into a bun on the back of his head stood with a rope coiled in his grip. His eyes remained trained on the man perilously perched out on the slanted wooden pole. Every time the man swayed too far to one side or the other, his observer would twitch, looking as though he was about to throw the rope down into the water.
This was clearly far from the first time that man had adopted this dangerous traveling location, and if the young man with the rope's attitude was anything to go by, it would also not be the first time he'd fallen from the pole into the water below, should his feet suddenly slip. For his part, the man on the pole seemed completely ignorant of his avid looker-on, instead far more interested in the empty horizon.
Just as the scene seemed to be settling into a calm, endless loop, it was suddenly disrupted by the sound of booted feet racing up wooden steps, before landing heavily on the forecastle deck. "Cap'n," a distinctively feminine voice called out. "Simun says we gettin' close, 'n you should… uhhh, c-come down 'n help." Despite the small stutter that interrupted her words at the notion of having to give the man something even resembling an order, the black-skinned woman still managed to relay her message in its entirety.
Standing on the bowsprit, Varen let out a small sigh, his eyes tracing over the horizon one last time. Frankly, he'd been hoping that their target, a ship in the service of the Temple of Life, would have appeared before any of his officers came to find him to get any more information.
It wasn't as though it was unreasonable of them to want more information from him. After all, Varen had done little more last night than throw down some coordinates and the statement 'we're boarding a ship', before he was gone, racing up the ropes to join Jake in the crow's nest and leaving his officers behind to redirect their route. No, it was instead that he simply didn't want to have to go through the effort of filling them in on the details. His officers, as skilled as they were and as useful as they were to have them around, had the annoying habit of wanting to actually know what was going on, even if they got absolutely no say in the matter. It might not be the case on any other ship, but here on the Barracuda, Varen's word was absolute law. But damned if that didn't stop them from pestering him half to death with questions, and comments, and opinions after every decision he made.
Behind him came the sound of nervous fidgeting. "Cap'n?"
"Yes, yes," the man replied lazily, pivoting on the spot and weaving his way back to the deck with the lithe sort of grace more commonly found in felines than men. A second later, and his own boots struck solid wood, creating a resonant thump and a yelp of indignation from someone inside the forecastle. Varen blatantly ignored the noise, instead staring at the two dark skinned people in front of him.
His gaze turned to the man first, one eyebrow raised. "You can drop the rope now, Kill. I'm not going to fall overboard anymore, promise."
There was a faint grunt of assent from the man, before the rope clattered to the deck. That earned a snort from Varen. "Not there. Put it away, back wherever the fuck you got it from."
The man hastily bent over to pick up the rope, before turning to stride away.
"And you don't have to watch me next time!" Varen called after the man's retreating back, catching nothing but a faintly mumbled "...Orders," before Killian dropped down to the main deck.
Varen snorted again. "Of course," he complained, before turning to the square-jawed, masculine Zamaiya, who appeared to have been watching his conversation with Killian with something bordering on fascination. "And where's Simun?" Varen asked, a tinge of impatience in his voice.
Zamaiya snapped back into focus, one hand reaching up unconsciously to tug nervously at one of her own black dreads, which had been carefully wrapped in thin red twine. "Your quarters, cap'n."
"The fuck he doing in my room?" Varen asked, but started moving far before Zamaiya could ever get a chance to respond. One step, and he was already running, hurtling towards the railing that fenced in the forecastle deck, before vaulting over the wood and dropping to the main deck, rolling forward to maintain his momentum. A few of his crew turned to watch as the man continued to dash his way across the deck, completely disregarding the stairs and instead choosing to bound up the wall, landing on the quarter deck and then racing further up to the sterncastle deck before ultimately barreling through the door into the captain's quarters, slamming the door shut behind him.
In the wake of his hurricane-like passage, the various crewmembers gradually returned to their own jobs.
Even though Varen's quarters had almost the entire back wall made up of windows, staring back at the wake of the ship's passage, it was still dark compared to the brilliant light that shone down on the deck. All the same, Varen was able to instantly spot the five other silhouettes waiting for him in the room. They'd gathered around a medium sized round table, with a map spread across its surface. Small daggers had been stabbed through the corners of the map, pinning it to the table so that it wouldn't go sliding away with the ship's movement.
Despite his affected indignation to Zamaiya earlier, Varen wasn't surprised his officers had chosen to gather here. Other than the galley in the forecastle, Varen's quarters were the largest independent room in the whole ship. Even with all the staples of a standard bedroom, such as a bed and dresser, there was still more than enough room in the space for a set of bookshelves, a wide couch under the window, and a round table more than large enough to seat six. There was, undeniably, no better room to hold a meeting.
All of his officers turned to stare at Varen as he slammed his way into the room, before flopping down on one of the chairs around the table, legs sprawled out wide in front of him. He waved his hand in a lazy manner, indicating for things to proceed.
"We've arrived at the coordinates you gave, chief," the tall, blonde haired Simun said, his eyes trained on his captain. "Care to explain what we're going to be doing here now?"
"I told you," Varen said, head tilted against the back of his chair and eyes half closed as though disinterested in his Sailing Master's words. "We're going to be attacking a ship."
"What ship?" Came the almost instantaneous reply from Dahlia, Varen's Master Gunner. She was leaning forward across the table, staring intently at Varen with her dark, double lidded eyes. "And why?"
Internally, Varen shook his head. He would swear that his officers practiced this while he wasn't looking. Then again, that also assumed that they'd be able to guess his answers, which was a bet he'd never take. Like now, for instance.
"A ship from the Temple of Life. There's someone on board I want, and we're going to go get her."
Yes, there were the dumbfounded sets of expressions that he liked to see. Varen would have burst out laughing at them, if it wasn't for the fact that he didn't want them to think he was joking. No, Varen was deadly serious about this particular escapade, and molded his expression into a grim mask to make that abundantly transparent. Anyone who got in his way would be thrown overboard without a second thought, allies and enemies alike.
The first to recover from the bombshell he just dropped was the only other woman in the room. Taliah, his black-clothed Quartermaster, was, as ever, lurking in a shadow in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall with her arms folded across her chest. "You hate the Temple of Life." It was a statement. Everyone on board knew that Varen and anything to do with the Goddess of Life mixed about as well as water dumped on an oil fire. Her actual question, on the other hand, was implicit. Why are we kidnapping someone from there?
"I do," Varen agreed, the casual nature of his words belying the flash of rage that passed through his eyes. "I'm taking their Oracle anyways."
This new piece of information caused the youngest member of the room, a tall, pale-skinned, black haired young man in unexpectedly neat clothes, to blanch. "You're going to kidnap an Oracle?" he said, eyes wide with traces of poorly suppressed panic. "The Temple will never let you go for that."
Varen's cold eyes almost instantly locked on to Hind. "And?" he asked, as all the other eyes in the room turned towards the young man. Hind cowered backwards slightly, choking on his own spit.
"What kind of ship?" Dahlia's voice was the one that redirected everyone's attention away from the unfortunate young man, turning their focus back to the matter at hand. "And what are their defenses like?"
"Does it matter?" came a soft, almost liquid voice from the back of the room, from a thin man of indeterminate age, who was lazily sprawled across Varen's sofa. The Battle Master offered a limpid smile to his Captain when Varen's gaze turned towards him. Varen couldn't help but smile back approvingly.
Dahlia, on the other hand, was nowhere near so amused. She offered an unamused glare in Samiel's direction. "It does, if you'd like anyone other than the captain walking away from the battle in one piece. We need to make appropriate preparations."
Simun didn't bother to respond, instead maintaining his easy smile. Dahlia seemed to take that as her win, as she turned away from the other man triumphantly to stare expectantly at Varen. He flapped his hand through the air, as though chasing off a fly.
"There's nothing to worry about. They're on a merchant's brig, and this isn't an officially sanctioned trip. They'll be easy pickings."
"If this isn't an officially sanctioned trip," came Simun's deep voice, his head tilted slightly to the side. "How do you know they'll be here?"
Varen only smiled.
Far above the deck of the ship, a bony man with a bald head was clinging to the edge of the crow's nest with one hand, using his other to shade his eyes from the glare of the sun. The scope that was often left behind in the nest, roped to the mast to keep it from rolling away, was left unused.
The sound of rustling fabric and a faint grunt interrupted his survey, and he turned around to see the black-haired Varen scrambling into the nest.
"Captain," the man greeted.
"Jake," Varen responded in turn, bobbing his head slightly in greeting. "Any signs yet?"
"None, sir," Jake replied dutifully, before adding, "I would have shouted if there were."
"Smart ass." Varen clapped him heavily on the back, which almost caused the man to overbalance in surprise. A second lazy shove from Varen sent him stumbling backwards instead, where he reassuringly grabbed on to the mast to stabilize himself.
Varen had already picked up the scope for himself, using it to scan along the horizon in a couple lazy sweeps. However, his survey was interrupted once more by Jake, who appeared unperturbed at his Captain sending him for a brush with death only moments ago. "Are you sure there's a ship coming? The water's deserted, and from what I know, we're not on a popular sailing route. Might not see anyone for days."
"I'm sure," Varen responded, disdaining to elaborate further. Despite that, the Captain of the Barracuda was unable to suppress his impatience, lifting his scope to scan the horizon again. This matter was far too important to him for him to put in anything less than full effort.
Jake didn't question him further, instead walking over to the other side of the crow's nest to continue scouting.
The two men stood in silence while the sun slowly crawled its way through the sky. Down below, the call for lunch had long since come, but, since Varen didn't move from his vantage point, Jake didn't descend down to the deck either. At some point, a lanky man in white clothes had climbed up to deposit two wooden plates for the men, but Varen had continued to ignore the bowl full of materials of questionable origins, even as Jake scooped it up, swallowing mouthful after mouthful as he continued to scout.
"There!" Varen's abrupt shout was accompanied by an equally abrupt movement, as the man all but literally threw himself over the side of the crow's nest. He barely caught a halyard line that ran from the edge of the sail, slowing his descent for a second before the momentum of his fall ripped his grip loose again. If it wasn't for the fact that he didn't want to risk damaging the deck, Varen might not even have bothered to slow his fall.
Far above his head now, he heard Jake shout. "Look out below!"
Far below him, the people moving about the deck didn't even bother to look up, instead quickly scampered over to the railings on port and stern. Only once they were safely out of the way did they tilt their heads to watch the rapid descent of the man that looked as though he was falling from the sky.
Varen managed to catch a couple more ropes on his way down, clipping the edges of the ratlines after passing the lower topsail. When he finally reached the deck, he landed accompanied by a noise reminiscent of wet wood splintering. A few of the observers winced, but most began to return to their former positions.
Varen didn't give them the chance. Barely taking the time to shake out his legs as his bones began to snap back into position, Varen began to shout. "Hold! All hands on deck! Target on the horizon!"
Reacting to the shout, people began to appear from everywhere, scampering about the ship. Varen's officers were attracted by his shout, and quickly began to take charge. One command overlapped the next.
"Gunners below deck! Prep the cannons!"
"Spare hands to the ropes!"
Varen also wasn't slowed down one bit. "Simun! Aim for a port-side assault! We don't want them trying to flee to shallow waters!"
"Aye, chief!" came a quick response, before Simun began to call his own commands. Several sailors on the lines began to haul at the ropes, causing the ship to gradually turn to the left, drifting closer to the foggy outline of the Kyzan peninsula.
Varen ignored him, instead turning to scan the deck. "Where the hell is Ashana!"
A chestnut-haired figure appeared at his side, almost bubbling over with excitement. "I'll help!"
Varen shoved the overenthusiastic young woman away from him, towards the rear of the ship. "Help by tracking her down, and organizing everyone who has wind and water prayers prepared. I want this to go down cleanly. If this ship gets away, there'll be hell to pay!"
"Yes, sir!" Henrika shouted, before scampering away to find her mentor.
"Sam!" Varen continued, finally tracking down his battle master. The thin man leaned over a railing, a wide smile on his face. His tongue flicked out to lick his lower lip. "Organize a raiding party. We're going to be boarding. High precision battle prayers only. If anyone so much as scratches our target, I'll see them feeding the fishes before dusk. Other than our target, show no quarter. I care not for their survival."
Samiel nodded, his head disappearing back behind the railing. Valen's eyes continued to drift, thoughts racing through his head. "Braith! In case you didn't hear, we're boarding. You're not on the cannons this time. Get our grapplers ready!"
"I heard, captain!" came a voice from below deck, before a copper haired woman jumped up onto the main deck, thick ropes coiled around her body, with heavy metal grappling hooks swaying from one end. She quickly jogged over to the port railing, and began to tie the ends of the grappling ropes to heavy metal anchors.
"Dahlia! Fire at will, but that ship cannot sink until we're done with it." A wordless shout came from below deck, the woman giving acknowledgement that she'd heard the command. The brig would be smaller than their own ship, and the cannons on the orlop deck would prove far more accurate than those on the main deck. Varen continued. "Feel free to take out the masts. The brig need not be seaworthy by the time we're done with her."
As the crew continued to scramble, the white sails that Varen had spotted from the crow's nest finally became visible from our main deck. His eyes practically burning with excitement, Varen issued one final command. "And someone change our goddamn colors!"
At the base of the mainmast, a stocky, red-haired sailor began to haul at a thin cable, causing the plain blue flag of the Taessic Island Nations to begin to drop. It would only take a couple minutes before a blood red flag with skull and crossbones was hoisted in its place.
But the flag wasn't the only colors on the ship that began to change. As soon as Varen finished issuing his orders he turned and climbed up to the quarter deck, pausing at an unremarkable spot only a couple feet in front of the mainmast. His hand sunk onto the wooden deck, before a ripple of darkness began to spread from his fingers. The ship's blue and gold wood was stained into a midnight black, but the darkness continued to climb up the masts, turning everything onboard into inky darkness. However, when the darkness reached the sails, it began to spread across them in a shade of crimson just as brilliant as the flag itself, like the sails had been soaked in blood.
It wasn't until the ship had completely changed color that Varen stood again. Behind him, Samiel tossed over a heavy sword, who's back had been cut into sharp sawteeth. Varen grinned viciously.
"I'm coming for you," he said, voice echoing. But only Varen knew that he wasn't talking about the oracle onboard the Temple's ship.
In the distance, white sails began to rise on the horizon like little white clouds. A blue and gold ship gradually materialized along the horizon under the sails, traveling smoothly through the small waves. On the ship's deck, numerous people moved about like small ants, hauling ropes that caused the sails to twist further into the wind. Gradually, the prow of the ship began to turn, revealing a silhouette highlighted against the blue sky.
Perched somewhere in the middle of the wooden bowsprit, which stretched from the prow of the ship out far over the glistening blue water, a dark-haired man with a sand-colored overcoat and tall black boots was balanced among the swaying ropes of the jib sails. Despite the obvious precariousness of his location, he stood with confidence, back straight, knees slightly bent to absorb the motion from the swaying of the ship, one hand loosely curled around the rope that ran away behind him towards the foremast. His eyes scanned the horizon in front of the ship, back and forth across its dark line, even as it seemed like he was only ever an instant away from toppling into the water below.
Far more sturdily planted on the deck of the forecastle, a dark skinned young man with long dreads curled up into a bun on the back of his head stood with a rope coiled in his grip. His eyes remained trained on the man perilously perched out on the slanted wooden pole. Every time the man swayed too far to one side or the other, his observer would twitch, looking as though he was about to throw the rope down into the water.
This was clearly far from the first time that man had adopted this dangerous traveling location, and if the young man with the rope's attitude was anything to go by, it would also not be the first time he'd fallen from the pole into the water below, should his feet suddenly slip. For his part, the man on the pole seemed completely ignorant of his avid looker-on, instead far more interested in the empty horizon.
Just as the scene seemed to be settling into a calm, endless loop, it was suddenly disrupted by the sound of booted feet racing up wooden steps, before landing heavily on the forecastle deck. "Cap'n," a distinctively feminine voice called out. "Simun says we gettin' close, 'n you should… uhhh, c-come down 'n help." Despite the small stutter that interrupted her words at the notion of having to give the man something even resembling an order, the black-skinned woman still managed to relay her message in its entirety.
Standing on the bowsprit, Varen let out a small sigh, his eyes tracing over the horizon one last time. Frankly, he'd been hoping that their target, a ship in the service of the Temple of Life, would have appeared before any of his officers came to find him to get any more information.
It wasn't as though it was unreasonable of them to want more information from him. After all, Varen had done little more last night than throw down some coordinates and the statement 'we're boarding a ship', before he was gone, racing up the ropes to join Jake in the crow's nest and leaving his officers behind to redirect their route. No, it was instead that he simply didn't want to have to go through the effort of filling them in on the details. His officers, as skilled as they were and as useful as they were to have them around, had the annoying habit of wanting to actually know what was going on, even if they got absolutely no say in the matter. It might not be the case on any other ship, but here on the Barracuda, Varen's word was absolute law. But damned if that didn't stop them from pestering him half to death with questions, and comments, and opinions after every decision he made.
Behind him came the sound of nervous fidgeting. "Cap'n?"
"Yes, yes," the man replied lazily, pivoting on the spot and weaving his way back to the deck with the lithe sort of grace more commonly found in felines than men. A second later, and his own boots struck solid wood, creating a resonant thump and a yelp of indignation from someone inside the forecastle. Varen blatantly ignored the noise, instead staring at the two dark skinned people in front of him.
His gaze turned to the man first, one eyebrow raised. "You can drop the rope now, Kill. I'm not going to fall overboard anymore, promise."
There was a faint grunt of assent from the man, before the rope clattered to the deck. That earned a snort from Varen. "Not there. Put it away, back wherever the fuck you got it from."
The man hastily bent over to pick up the rope, before turning to stride away.
"And you don't have to watch me next time!" Varen called after the man's retreating back, catching nothing but a faintly mumbled "...Orders," before Killian dropped down to the main deck.
Varen snorted again. "Of course," he complained, before turning to the square-jawed, masculine Zamaiya, who appeared to have been watching his conversation with Killian with something bordering on fascination. "And where's Simun?" Varen asked, a tinge of impatience in his voice.
Zamaiya snapped back into focus, one hand reaching up unconsciously to tug nervously at one of her own black dreads, which had been carefully wrapped in thin red twine. "Your quarters, cap'n."
"The fuck he doing in my room?" Varen asked, but started moving far before Zamaiya could ever get a chance to respond. One step, and he was already running, hurtling towards the railing that fenced in the forecastle deck, before vaulting over the wood and dropping to the main deck, rolling forward to maintain his momentum. A few of his crew turned to watch as the man continued to dash his way across the deck, completely disregarding the stairs and instead choosing to bound up the wall, landing on the quarter deck and then racing further up to the sterncastle deck before ultimately barreling through the door into the captain's quarters, slamming the door shut behind him.
In the wake of his hurricane-like passage, the various crewmembers gradually returned to their own jobs.
Even though Varen's quarters had almost the entire back wall made up of windows, staring back at the wake of the ship's passage, it was still dark compared to the brilliant light that shone down on the deck. All the same, Varen was able to instantly spot the five other silhouettes waiting for him in the room. They'd gathered around a medium sized round table, with a map spread across its surface. Small daggers had been stabbed through the corners of the map, pinning it to the table so that it wouldn't go sliding away with the ship's movement.
Despite his affected indignation to Zamaiya earlier, Varen wasn't surprised his officers had chosen to gather here. Other than the galley in the forecastle, Varen's quarters were the largest independent room in the whole ship. Even with all the staples of a standard bedroom, such as a bed and dresser, there was still more than enough room in the space for a set of bookshelves, a wide couch under the window, and a round table more than large enough to seat six. There was, undeniably, no better room to hold a meeting.
All of his officers turned to stare at Varen as he slammed his way into the room, before flopping down on one of the chairs around the table, legs sprawled out wide in front of him. He waved his hand in a lazy manner, indicating for things to proceed.
"We've arrived at the coordinates you gave, chief," the tall, blonde haired Simun said, his eyes trained on his captain. "Care to explain what we're going to be doing here now?"
"I told you," Varen said, head tilted against the back of his chair and eyes half closed as though disinterested in his Sailing Master's words. "We're going to be attacking a ship."
"What ship?" Came the almost instantaneous reply from Dahlia, Varen's Master Gunner. She was leaning forward across the table, staring intently at Varen with her dark, double lidded eyes. "And why?"
Internally, Varen shook his head. He would swear that his officers practiced this while he wasn't looking. Then again, that also assumed that they'd be able to guess his answers, which was a bet he'd never take. Like now, for instance.
"A ship from the Temple of Life. There's someone on board I want, and we're going to go get her."
Yes, there were the dumbfounded sets of expressions that he liked to see. Varen would have burst out laughing at them, if it wasn't for the fact that he didn't want them to think he was joking. No, Varen was deadly serious about this particular escapade, and molded his expression into a grim mask to make that abundantly transparent. Anyone who got in his way would be thrown overboard without a second thought, allies and enemies alike.
The first to recover from the bombshell he just dropped was the only other woman in the room. Taliah, his black-clothed Quartermaster, was, as ever, lurking in a shadow in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall with her arms folded across her chest. "You hate the Temple of Life." It was a statement. Everyone on board knew that Varen and anything to do with the Goddess of Life mixed about as well as water dumped on an oil fire. Her actual question, on the other hand, was implicit. Why are we kidnapping someone from there?
"I do," Varen agreed, the casual nature of his words belying the flash of rage that passed through his eyes. "I'm taking their Oracle anyways."
This new piece of information caused the youngest member of the room, a tall, pale-skinned, black haired young man in unexpectedly neat clothes, to blanch. "You're going to kidnap an Oracle?" he said, eyes wide with traces of poorly suppressed panic. "The Temple will never let you go for that."
Varen's cold eyes almost instantly locked on to Hind. "And?" he asked, as all the other eyes in the room turned towards the young man. Hind cowered backwards slightly, choking on his own spit.
"What kind of ship?" Dahlia's voice was the one that redirected everyone's attention away from the unfortunate young man, turning their focus back to the matter at hand. "And what are their defenses like?"
"Does it matter?" came a soft, almost liquid voice from the back of the room, from a thin man of indeterminate age, who was lazily sprawled across Varen's sofa. The Battle Master offered a limpid smile to his Captain when Varen's gaze turned towards him. Varen couldn't help but smile back approvingly.
Dahlia, on the other hand, was nowhere near so amused. She offered an unamused glare in Samiel's direction. "It does, if you'd like anyone other than the captain walking away from the battle in one piece. We need to make appropriate preparations."
Simun didn't bother to respond, instead maintaining his easy smile. Dahlia seemed to take that as her win, as she turned away from the other man triumphantly to stare expectantly at Varen. He flapped his hand through the air, as though chasing off a fly.
"There's nothing to worry about. They're on a merchant's brig, and this isn't an officially sanctioned trip. They'll be easy pickings."
"If this isn't an officially sanctioned trip," came Simun's deep voice, his head tilted slightly to the side. "How do you know they'll be here?"
Varen only smiled.
Far above the deck of the ship, a bony man with a bald head was clinging to the edge of the crow's nest with one hand, using his other to shade his eyes from the glare of the sun. The scope that was often left behind in the nest, roped to the mast to keep it from rolling away, was left unused.
The sound of rustling fabric and a faint grunt interrupted his survey, and he turned around to see the black-haired Varen scrambling into the nest.
"Captain," the man greeted.
"Jake," Varen responded in turn, bobbing his head slightly in greeting. "Any signs yet?"
"None, sir," Jake replied dutifully, before adding, "I would have shouted if there were."
"Smart ass." Varen clapped him heavily on the back, which almost caused the man to overbalance in surprise. A second lazy shove from Varen sent him stumbling backwards instead, where he reassuringly grabbed on to the mast to stabilize himself.
Varen had already picked up the scope for himself, using it to scan along the horizon in a couple lazy sweeps. However, his survey was interrupted once more by Jake, who appeared unperturbed at his Captain sending him for a brush with death only moments ago. "Are you sure there's a ship coming? The water's deserted, and from what I know, we're not on a popular sailing route. Might not see anyone for days."
"I'm sure," Varen responded, disdaining to elaborate further. Despite that, the Captain of the Barracuda was unable to suppress his impatience, lifting his scope to scan the horizon again. This matter was far too important to him for him to put in anything less than full effort.
Jake didn't question him further, instead walking over to the other side of the crow's nest to continue scouting.
The two men stood in silence while the sun slowly crawled its way through the sky. Down below, the call for lunch had long since come, but, since Varen didn't move from his vantage point, Jake didn't descend down to the deck either. At some point, a lanky man in white clothes had climbed up to deposit two wooden plates for the men, but Varen had continued to ignore the bowl full of materials of questionable origins, even as Jake scooped it up, swallowing mouthful after mouthful as he continued to scout.
"There!" Varen's abrupt shout was accompanied by an equally abrupt movement, as the man all but literally threw himself over the side of the crow's nest. He barely caught a halyard line that ran from the edge of the sail, slowing his descent for a second before the momentum of his fall ripped his grip loose again. If it wasn't for the fact that he didn't want to risk damaging the deck, Varen might not even have bothered to slow his fall.
Far above his head now, he heard Jake shout. "Look out below!"
Far below him, the people moving about the deck didn't even bother to look up, instead quickly scampered over to the railings on port and stern. Only once they were safely out of the way did they tilt their heads to watch the rapid descent of the man that looked as though he was falling from the sky.
Varen managed to catch a couple more ropes on his way down, clipping the edges of the ratlines after passing the lower topsail. When he finally reached the deck, he landed accompanied by a noise reminiscent of wet wood splintering. A few of the observers winced, but most began to return to their former positions.
Varen didn't give them the chance. Barely taking the time to shake out his legs as his bones began to snap back into position, Varen began to shout. "Hold! All hands on deck! Target on the horizon!"
Reacting to the shout, people began to appear from everywhere, scampering about the ship. Varen's officers were attracted by his shout, and quickly began to take charge. One command overlapped the next.
"Gunners below deck! Prep the cannons!"
"Spare hands to the ropes!"
Varen also wasn't slowed down one bit. "Simun! Aim for a port-side assault! We don't want them trying to flee to shallow waters!"
"Aye, chief!" came a quick response, before Simun began to call his own commands. Several sailors on the lines began to haul at the ropes, causing the ship to gradually turn to the left, drifting closer to the foggy outline of the Kyzan peninsula.
Varen ignored him, instead turning to scan the deck. "Where the hell is Ashana!"
A chestnut-haired figure appeared at his side, almost bubbling over with excitement. "I'll help!"
Varen shoved the overenthusiastic young woman away from him, towards the rear of the ship. "Help by tracking her down, and organizing everyone who has wind and water prayers prepared. I want this to go down cleanly. If this ship gets away, there'll be hell to pay!"
"Yes, sir!" Henrika shouted, before scampering away to find her mentor.
"Sam!" Varen continued, finally tracking down his battle master. The thin man leaned over a railing, a wide smile on his face. His tongue flicked out to lick his lower lip. "Organize a raiding party. We're going to be boarding. High precision battle prayers only. If anyone so much as scratches our target, I'll see them feeding the fishes before dusk. Other than our target, show no quarter. I care not for their survival."
Samiel nodded, his head disappearing back behind the railing. Valen's eyes continued to drift, thoughts racing through his head. "Braith! In case you didn't hear, we're boarding. You're not on the cannons this time. Get our grapplers ready!"
"I heard, captain!" came a voice from below deck, before a copper haired woman jumped up onto the main deck, thick ropes coiled around her body, with heavy metal grappling hooks swaying from one end. She quickly jogged over to the port railing, and began to tie the ends of the grappling ropes to heavy metal anchors.
"Dahlia! Fire at will, but that ship cannot sink until we're done with it." A wordless shout came from below deck, the woman giving acknowledgement that she'd heard the command. The brig would be smaller than their own ship, and the cannons on the orlop deck would prove far more accurate than those on the main deck. Varen continued. "Feel free to take out the masts. The brig need not be seaworthy by the time we're done with her."
As the crew continued to scramble, the white sails that Varen had spotted from the crow's nest finally became visible from our main deck. His eyes practically burning with excitement, Varen issued one final command. "And someone change our goddamn colors!"
At the base of the mainmast, a stocky, red-haired sailor began to haul at a thin cable, causing the plain blue flag of the Taessic Island Nations to begin to drop. It would only take a couple minutes before a blood red flag with skull and crossbones was hoisted in its place.
But the flag wasn't the only colors on the ship that began to change. As soon as Varen finished issuing his orders he turned and climbed up to the quarter deck, pausing at an unremarkable spot only a couple feet in front of the mainmast. His hand sunk onto the wooden deck, before a ripple of darkness began to spread from his fingers. The ship's blue and gold wood was stained into a midnight black, but the darkness continued to climb up the masts, turning everything onboard into inky darkness. However, when the darkness reached the sails, it began to spread across them in a shade of crimson just as brilliant as the flag itself, like the sails had been soaked in blood.
It wasn't until the ship had completely changed color that Varen stood again. Behind him, Samiel tossed over a heavy sword, who's back had been cut into sharp sawteeth. Varen grinned viciously.
"I'm coming for you," he said, voice echoing. But only Varen knew that he wasn't talking about the oracle onboard the Temple's ship.