- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Online Availability
- 16:00-20:00 US Central
- Writing Levels
- Adept
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- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Cyberpunk, Sci-fi, Fantasy, and other low-tech/fantasy.
Reynard stood atop the deck of the Albatross, feet planted widely apart to steady himself as the small sloop cut through the open ocean below. Ocean spray sprung over the railing of the ship as the waves buffeted the vessel, coming to make the deck slippery and Reynard’s cloak damp to the touch. Reynard ran a hand through his blonde beard, scratching his chin as he gazed out over the horizon, shielding his eyes from the sun’s violent reflections with a raised hand. They were three days from land by his judgment, and the positioning of his ship by the star charts.
Not that he needed the charts, anyway. Few knew their way around the open ocean like Reynard the White Gull.
Reynard took in a long, deep breath of the salty air before pirouetting on the spot and strolling from the prow of the ship to its stern, greeting his crew as he went along. Stopping at the base of the mast, Reynard peered up to the crow’s nest and cupped either side of his mouth.
“Oie, Polivar!” He shouted up.
Without delay, a head poked out from the crow’s nest - a young boy, no older than fourteen with matted and dirty straw-colored hair and a thin, wispy moustache forming at his lips. Even from his position, Reynard could see the boy’s fair skin was ablaze with sunburn and peeling at the seams.
“What’s’it?” Polivar called back.
“Seen anything up there?” Reynard asked, images of the open ocean flashing before his eyes as he awaited Polivar’s answer.
“Nothing, not a thing!” Polivar answered, words flowing rapidly off his tongue. “We expecting something?”
There was a nervous undertone to Polivar’s raspy, northern continental accent. Everyone aboard the Albtaross knew of Reynard’s gift, how he could read the waves like a learned man read script. Only, as hard as he tried to coax the images into place, Reynard could not see more than seagulls, fish, and leagues of flat ocean water. He closed his eyes and strained himself, looking for something, anything. There. Reynard saw it in his mind’s eye. A storm, brewing over the horizon. Only, when he looked around the day was bright and cloudless, the air temperate with the cool touch of the ocean breeze.
“Nothing yet,” he told Olivar. “Just keep an eye out for me alright? And for fuck’s sake, boy, throw a cloth over your head or you’ll start to look uglier than a fifty year old whore with all those burns!”
“Aye, cap’n,” Polivar’s head vanished back into the crow’s nest.
The captain rolled his eyes and proceeded towards the main cabin, opening the doors and heading down below-deck after passing by the navigational tools and breakfast he had left on the table that morning. The ship always felt rockier below-deck, Reynard mused to himself as he deftly cleared the stairs and hold without skipping a beat. He then walked down the length of the ship, coming to the cabin below-deck at the prow of the ship.
Clearing his throat, Reynard stretched a hand out and knocked twice on the door. Even if their lovely lady was this voyage’s “cargo”, she ought to be treated as a lady.
“Are you decent?” The captain asked in the girl’s native tongue, refraining from using common for fear his men might overhear and rake him over the coals for it later.