Thread: Here Be Dragons [ Forsaken Dreamer and Terucin ]

A brisk wind blew across the ocean, causing clothing and sails alike to snap and wave occasionally. The skies had cleared and the waters had calmed since the storm yesterday, which had been a violent one indeed. Crewmen scurried to and fro as they made minor repairs to what they could now that the sun had risen and they had light by which to work with. The ship had managed to only sustain minor damage, except for one mast, so the captain had altered their course to make landfall soon. The captain in question stood at the helm, casting his gaze over the crew as they worked, and also over his ship. He had fought hard and killed to get this ship, and had fought hard since to keep it. Over his young life, the captain had owned several fine vessels, some grander and others shabbier, but none had felt quite as right to him as this one, his pride and joy. He grimaced in displeasure at the broken mast, berating himself for having not repaired it properly last time. It had broken in a previous storm, and he had thought that he made a suitable replacement. However, it had still fallen under the force of the last storm. He would be sure to not make the same mistake again. A crewman ran up just then and opened his mouth before clamping it shut with an audible click of his teeth. Snapping a belated salute, the crewman opened his mouth once again. Captain Al'Verth, thar be wreckage ahead, off the port-side bow! Captain Sverdar AL'Verth turned slightly to directly face the man who stood a few feet away, who was nearly trembling in an attempt to stand up straight as could be. Sverdar resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man's choice of words. Did it do them any good to prove the stereotype of how pirates spoke? He didn't know, but many of the crew stubbornly held to the speech style and viewed themselves as proper pirates indeed. Sverdar himself considered himself a pirate by trade, rather than by nature. He had been born to a widowed mother and a father he never knew. His old man had managed to get himself blown away during a raiding party against a rival village just before Sverdar was born. He had received more of his traits traits from his mother, however. He didn't have the blonde hair or barrel-chested frame of his father, and instead was lean of body and long of limb. His hair was black as night, and his skin tanned like his mother's people. He had grown his hair out and kept it tied back in a ponytail and kept his facial hair to a well-trimmed goatee. On one hip he carried a sword, and on the other hung two pistols. He wore close-fitting clothing that had been made so that it didn't restrict his movement despite fitting close to his body. He kept to dark colors, his shirt being a dark grey while his pants were black. His boots were leather and he kept them regularly brushed and shined, as well taken care of as could be. It was a neverending task, cleaning his boots, but one he took pride in. At times like these where it wouldn't be a hindrance, Sverdar wore a trenchcoat where the only vestiges of color could be found. The coat was black while the hems of the coat were lined with gold scrollwork. With the warmer weather about, Sev wore the coat open, the wind occasionally picking and snapping the material. Am I to take it that the wreckage is fresh, then? Sverdar asked, trying to keep his boredom from seeping over into his voice. He also made sure to hide any contempt he felt for the crew around him many of them didn't consider him a very fit captain as he gained control only by killing the last captain. He wasn't going to win any popularity awards, that was for sure. Nodding quickly, the crewman almost looked comical with only one ear that seemed too large for his head the other had been blown off by grapeshot in a scuffle a few weeks back. Yes, sir, er, captain I mean, the man replied uncertainly. Sverdar nodded and glanced at the helmsman. If you would be so kind as to guide us towards the wreckage? Sverdar asked calmly. Maybe we can salvage something of value from the disaster of the storm last night. Hardly waiting for the nod from the helmsman, Sverdar strode across the deck to stand at the very front of the ship, the bow. Ahead he could see something in the water, and it wouldn't be long before his ship came aside the wreckage. This wasn't the life he had envisioned just a few years ago, but maybe his fortunes would change soon.