- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, Sci fi, anything in which the world itelf is extremely interesting.
Hundreds of feet above the wind whipped canopy of a primordial jungle, a man named John Caine, a famed dragon hunter, and the brave crew of his DHV “The Beowulf” fought for their lives against a terrible dragon amidst a tropical storm of unprecedented magnitude.
“The claws! The claws lads! Get it's claws out of the hull!”
John shouted into a speaker device, he squinted his eyes and tried to use his free hand to shield the heavy rain from the device, but at once, the ship turned sharply to the side. He lost his balance and slipped, his hat flying off as his head flew toward a railing.
“Shit!”
Before his head hit anything, his fall was stopped by a jerk on the jacket from his First-Mate, a thin man with a gauze-wrapped face who saw the world from a single, adjustable spectacle, and was renowned, who gripped his shoulder and handed him the dark, wide-brimmed hat which had accompanied him his entire career.
“Thanks, Enki…”
Enki responded with a single nod.
“Yes, sir.”
He spoke in a hushed voice.
There was another jerk, and the sound of screeching metal followed by a deafening shriek. The dragon crawled upward from its previous position clung to the side of the ship. A black horned head on the end of a serpentine neck rose upward over the starboard beam, roaring furiously as it snapped at men firing rifles. It's wings were folded tightly against it's back, it's claws sunk into the hard metal like hatchets striking a log, displaying destructive capability unnatural even for dragons. It was Daggerfoot, who had come with the storm to challenge John Caine once again. The two have fought since the dawn of John's career, when both terribly wounded the other. They have never came so close since. Daggerfoot could not kill John and John could not kill Daggerfoot, it seemed.
John put his hat back on, drew his hunting rifle from his back, and opened fire, rushing down the steps of the helm to meet the beast, if he and Enki could divert it's attention, the crew on-deck would be far safer. Enki rushed forward with a smoking shotgun and frightening speed.
As lightning shredded through the black clouds and torrential rain, the beast's roar cut through the roar of the wind, spreading far across the swaying jungle canopy between cracks of thunder, accompanied by the echoes of gunshots.
In it's spot in the raging heavens, smoke billowed off in black plumes the ship as fires raged defiant of the heavy rain. Grey smoke drifted from the barrels of firing guns. The Beowulf was badly wounded, rocked by the furious wind and savage beast clinging to it, and it seemed doomed with the ease the Dragon was shredding it's armor plating with overgrown, glistening claws.
“The claws! The claws lads! Get it's claws out of the hull!”
John shouted into a speaker device, he squinted his eyes and tried to use his free hand to shield the heavy rain from the device, but at once, the ship turned sharply to the side. He lost his balance and slipped, his hat flying off as his head flew toward a railing.
“Shit!”
Before his head hit anything, his fall was stopped by a jerk on the jacket from his First-Mate, a thin man with a gauze-wrapped face who saw the world from a single, adjustable spectacle, and was renowned, who gripped his shoulder and handed him the dark, wide-brimmed hat which had accompanied him his entire career.
“Thanks, Enki…”
Enki responded with a single nod.
“Yes, sir.”
He spoke in a hushed voice.
There was another jerk, and the sound of screeching metal followed by a deafening shriek. The dragon crawled upward from its previous position clung to the side of the ship. A black horned head on the end of a serpentine neck rose upward over the starboard beam, roaring furiously as it snapped at men firing rifles. It's wings were folded tightly against it's back, it's claws sunk into the hard metal like hatchets striking a log, displaying destructive capability unnatural even for dragons. It was Daggerfoot, who had come with the storm to challenge John Caine once again. The two have fought since the dawn of John's career, when both terribly wounded the other. They have never came so close since. Daggerfoot could not kill John and John could not kill Daggerfoot, it seemed.
John put his hat back on, drew his hunting rifle from his back, and opened fire, rushing down the steps of the helm to meet the beast, if he and Enki could divert it's attention, the crew on-deck would be far safer. Enki rushed forward with a smoking shotgun and frightening speed.
As lightning shredded through the black clouds and torrential rain, the beast's roar cut through the roar of the wind, spreading far across the swaying jungle canopy between cracks of thunder, accompanied by the echoes of gunshots.
In it's spot in the raging heavens, smoke billowed off in black plumes the ship as fires raged defiant of the heavy rain. Grey smoke drifted from the barrels of firing guns. The Beowulf was badly wounded, rocked by the furious wind and savage beast clinging to it, and it seemed doomed with the ease the Dragon was shredding it's armor plating with overgrown, glistening claws.