Fantasy 𝐌𝐀𝐍 — 𝐎' — 𝐖𝐀𝐑

[elanara]

​

❝ CHAPTER ONE. ❞

location: an unnamed deserted island, roughly four-hundred nautical miles west of smuggler's bay.

​

It’s early morning sometime during the seventh month of summer.

Despite just having risen, the sun is already climbing high, and the temperatures are climbing with it. The heat beats down on the sandy beaches unrelentingly, and the humidity — sticky and sweltering — chokes the air.

The survivors of the HMS Intrepid washed ashore sometime during the night. This morning, they wake to many of their crew members missing or dead, their captain included. Not only are they in complete shock from their ship sinking during the treacherous storm and losing their dearest friends, they are still dealing with the psychological effects of something else they witnessed last night.

It’s impossible to deny it, given that they all saw it with their own eyes.

“That thing, whatever it was, was nearly ten times the size of the ship, with big, black eyes and teeth large enough to cut ‘er right in two.”

But they had little time to process everything, because not even an hour later, a set of sails were spotted on the horizon. A heavy sense of dread filled each of their stomachs as they assumed the worst — the French.

Except, the closer the ship got, it became apparent that the colors they were flying weren't the vertical tricolor of red white and blue. In fact, it was something else, and completely unrecognizable.

The ship anchored off the coast. As a pair of boats rowed in, a nervous energy descended upon the crew, as all they could do at this point was sit and wait. Wait to fight, to be taken prisoner, or worse, wait to be killed.

 

[elanara]

𝟏𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐓. 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐄
HMS Intrepid

​

He finally came to.

His mouth was caked with hot, grainy sand, his eyes stung red from being flushed with seawater, and his entire head was relentlessly pounding and felt just about ready to explode. His face, already red and peeling, burned from the rays of the blistering sun.

Any memory he had from the night before was severely fragmented. All he could recall was the storm — lighting bright enough to crack the sky, howling winds, gigantic waves, bigger than he'd ever seen. The main mast split in half, and Selwyn, at one point, was shouting a slew of orders until something large with dark scales came crashing down upon the quarterdeck.

Afterwards, everything went black.

He coughed. Instinctively turned over on his side. Water came spilling up from his airways and out of his mouth.

Somewhere not too far off, he heard a familiar voice calling his name. “Mr. Moore! Wake up sir! Oi, someone go fetch the doctor. Tell 'im Mr. Moore's alive!”

Hinsley.

William suddenly felt the young midshipman's arms around him, helping him sit up, offering him a bit of water. He took a sip, then spit the sand from his mouth.

“What the hell happened?” He asked eventually, everything still a blur, head still spinning from the side effects of a nasty concussion.

“You don't remember sir?” Hinsley asked. "There was a terrible storm, the ship went down and the captain, the captain..." the boy's voice trailed off, unable to say what he was about to say.

For a quick moment William looked up at the sky, then instantly winced. The sun was blinding. Just one glance sent white hot daggers of pain splitting through his skull.

He pressed his eyes shut.

“Tell me.” He uttered, already feeling in his gut what he was about to hear.


———


“The captain’s gone, sir.”

Gone.

Hinsley's words hit William like a bullet, right through the center of his divided heart.

The captain's death was merely one piece of bad news on top of an entire fucking mountain of far more terrible news that came next. “The ship’s gone, we’re completely stranded, there’s no telling where we are.” When William opened his compass, the damned thing couldn’t tell him which way was bloody what. The needle simply spun round and round in circles, as if the very tip of its point were a man three sheets to the wind.

He turned and looked around him. All he found were the eyes of the remaining crew members of the Intrepid looking right back, each of them struck with completely exhausted, blank, thousand-yard-stares. He too, was still reeling from the shock of everything that had happened these past twenty-four hours, and it took every nerve and fiber of his being to force it down, bury it twenty-fathoms deep and shut the lid tight around it, just so he could pull what shred of sanity he had left together.

He counted the heads. Ayelsworth, Boyd, Dolan, Joe, Roger, Dr. Beach of course — thank God he made it, William thought to himself; he didn't know what the hell they'd do without their doctor — and a handful of others.

The gravity of their situation suddenly came rushing at him all at once, and with it a fit of boiling rage. His lips pressed together in a tight, thin line as he tried, in vain, to hide his frustration. He took in a deep breath and sharply exhaled.

That brainless fool, William angrily thought. None of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t decided to sail through that damned storm.

But no sooner did that thought enter his mind he caught himself. Don't lower yourself, a voice within him said. Thinking in such a way was pointless, he realized, and least of all helpful. Even though Captain Selwyn might not have been his favorite person in the entire world — nor the best captain, as most men standing here would agree — he was, after all was said and done, a good man. And he didn’t deserve to die the way that he did.

“What should we do, sir?” Hinsley asked after helping him to his feet. His voice was still in that in-between stage of boy and manhood, yet the look in his eyes was that of any other experienced sailor, tough and hardened after surviving through many battles and storms.

The midshipman nodded to something off to the right.

William turned his head to look. A man-o-war anchored just off shore, and a few boats still a good distance aways rowing towards them. She wasn't flying the French flag, though. Nor the skull and crossbones. In fact, the symbol on their flag was one he hadn't seen anywhere before. Ever.

So who the hell were they?

“Perhaps they mean to rescue us?” Johnathan Aylesworth, Intrepid's second lieutenant — who was just a year older than William, taller, with big, broad shoulders and a handsome, unmarred face — suggested.

William grimaced. Any other time he'd beat to quarters. But the ship was gone, and with it all her guns.

And that left very, very limited options to choose from.

“Perhaps,” William repeated, “But I wouldn't count on it completely. Have the men gather every dagger, sword, and pistol—” that's if they even worked “—they can find. If they come in peace we'll have no use for them. If not, then it's best we be prepared.” He said firmly.

Afterward, he promptly made his way over to Desmond Beach. The doctor was crouched over the deceased body of another one of their shipmates. “Desmond,” William acknowledged the man with a nod. Normally he would've used more formalities, but given the circumstances he figured referring to each other on a first name basis was acceptable.

“What's the butcher's bill?”


where: deserted island in the middle of who the fuck knows where | with: des & company | mood: fuck this fuck that fuck everything | fit check: this but heavily torn

 

[Blispy125]

Pippy

Piper sat in the crows nest. She was squinting due to the sun, cursing the gods above as she did. Why did it have to be such a blazing hot day? Couldn’t it just be cloudy or rainy, that was easier to deal with. She sighed. Her hair was knotted and whipping behind her. They’d been away from shore far too long for her liking and she hadn’t gotten to clean her hair.

She was starting to get bored in till she spotted something, an island. She’d seen the island before but they rarely stopped on it. It wasn’t unusual to see the island itself, it was what was on an island, a ship wreck. She grabbed her spying glass and looked at the spot in the distance. She spotted survivors. She gridded her teeth, she hadn’t expected survivors.

She put her spy glass away and grabbed her pistol. She slid it into’s spot on her hip. She wasn’t quite sure if she should tell the captain about her findings. She really didn’t want to, because she would surely try to help them. It would take them extra time to get to where they were going, they’d have to share rations, and even worse she’d be stuck with more sweaty men. She sighed and made her way down to the deck. She was loyal, which always found a way to bite her in the ass

She jumped down on to the deck. When she first got on the ship she would constantly fall down after the jump. Now she had perfected her landing. She frowned at the thought of being a newbie. She cleared her throat loudly announcing, “There was a ship wreck, it’s not far from our path. It’s clear there are survivors,” Not every crew member were on deck but she figured enough were. She didn’t repeat herself, if they didn’t hear her, they’d get the information from someone else’s mouth.

She sneakily took out her flask of alcohol. It was disgusting rum and she hated it, but it worked to calm her nerves. She didn’t want any of her crew mates seeing it though, they’d most definitely expect her to share. She didn’t have enough to where she’d ever want to share it and besides she bought it with her own pay. They never bought her nothing with their funds.

 

[CuChulainn]

Daragh



Daragh rested himself against one of the many barrels that littered the deck of the Maelstrom. The morning sun blazed overhead and he found himself shifting every few minutes to find some sort of shade or cover from the blasted thing. He hated the heat, but the only thing worse than being trapped out on the deck with a beating hot sun, was being trapped below decks with the rest of the crew.

People went about their day, doing menial tasks, checking ropes and sails for the 100th time since they started their shift. He didn’t even remember what he was supposed to be doing. Probably swabbing the decks or some other mind numbingly monotonous task. Nothing felt more pointless and dull than cleaning the deck of a ship at sea. It was like bathing yourself before doing some hard manual labour, utterly pointless. He was sure there was some reason for it, but he didn’t care, today he wasn’t bothered. Not in this heat.

Sighing, and shifting slightly again as the sun continued its journey overhead he contemplated whipping out his tobacco pipe for some relief in the ever gnawing boredom, but then he heard commotion above.

Pippy appeared out of nowhere and landed with a thud on the deck. Never was quite sure how she managed to do it. He knew full well himself that if he tried jumping more than a few feet from above, he’d end up sprawled across the deck and with far fewer teeth.

As it turns out, she’d spotted a shipwreck, although unfortunately there were survivors. Much harder to relieve people of their possessions if they were alive. His stock of pay from their last outing was low as usual. But what was the point of having it if not to spend it? Ah well, at least there was something to do now instead of being busy not doing the thing he was supposed to be doing.

Daragh assumed the captain would want to have a look, he hadn’t spotted her yet but he figured she was somewhere nearby. Not much point slacking off in direct eyesight of the captain really. He checked himself, he had two pistols in his belt lining, and well, his magic. He couldn’t see out to the ship very well, but it certainly didn’t look like the wreck of a trading ship. “Pirates, must be” he mumbled to himself.

Eager to do something he moved towards the Maelstrom’s ship’s boat. Grabbing a sack of supplies and weapons he heaved them over into the hull of the small boat and hopped in himself. His heartbeat picked up and he felt the flutter of adrenaline that preceded a battle. He was ready and itching for a good fight. Looking back around at the crew on he smiled with a wide mischievous grin; “Well, I’m ready to go fuck up some pirates”

 

[Lost Echo]

Bloody hell it was hot. If she didn’t do anything, she was going to mutiny, nevermind her crew. Standing on the quarterdeck, one boot on the railing, Dextra’s hands were in the air. It was difficult to make clouds out of nothing, but the ocean always provided. Her magic caught the spray against the ship, lifting the water up into the air. She had just begun weaving the cloud together--a delicate process if she didn’t want a storm, though right now she’d enjoy a light drizzle--when she heard Pip’s boots land on the deck. Letting the haze go, the lone cloud hovered over the ship, providing some relief to the crew. Turning around, Dextra walked to the opposite edge of the quarter deck, her hands on her hips to hear the young woman’s announcement.

Ah survivors. Her back twinged with the memory of her lost crew. Jumping nimbly down onto the main deck, she walked easily with the swaying of the ship to Pippy. Slapping a hand on her shoulder, she praised, “Good eyes.” She knew the girl likely didn’t want them to pick up survivors. Having a cabin of her own, Dextra didn’t have to smell her crew as personally as the rest did. “We’ll stop and check it out.” She called, giving the command to drop anchor.

Turning to see the finally moving Daragh gather supplies, she smirked and shook her head, “Let’s see who they are before you kill them Mr. O’Malley. Perhaps one of them can do your job and swab the decks, hm?” Hot as it was, it was even more important to keep the decks damp and clean. With temperatures like this, a little dropped gunpowder could lit itself.

Still, she was just as eager for some action, “Reynir, I don’t expect any trouble. Come if you wish.” Looking over her assembled crew, Dextra picked out, "Kid. C'mon too." Myra was a scrappy kid; she'd be fine even if there was trouble. She climbed into Daragh’s boat, taking a seat. “Let’s check it out Mr. O’Malley.”

Blispy125 CuChulainn wickedlittlecritta SavannahSmiles

 

[elanara]

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 || 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐄​

"Eight wounded, five dead..." he turned to the sea as if searching for answers. "One hundred and eighty-seven missing." Many among the crew were landsmen unaccustomed to swimming and neither was he for that matter. Perhaps a strong current swept them under. Surely, given the force of impact they must’ve drowned?

Desmond shakily extended an arm toward the dead body. “Mister Clarke.” The man’s face appeared pale and loose like a bed sheet. But perhaps most shocking – a large gash from his left nipple to waist had been torn out.

---

One hundred and eighty seven missing.

"Jesus." William swore under his breath. Such a large percentage of the entire crew... Sigh. A wave of guilt crashed down over him, falling with the weight of the entire Atlantic right on his shoulders. Though he wasn't their captain and knew that this great misfortune that had befallen each and every single one of them wasn't directly his fault, he did, in some way, feel a little responsible. He should've argued with Selwyn more, he told himself, done a better job persuading him that going around the storm was the better option rather than pushing straight through it. Convinced him that there was no need to prove himself a worthy captain by putting the lives of the entire crew at risk.

But Selwyn wouldn't listen. He never listened. "Know your place, lieutenant." He had said, his arrogant voice echoing in William's mind.

Now, here they were.

Blue eyes dropped down on the corpse of Mister Clarke. William frowned, clearly guilt-stricken. Poor sod. He'd been Intrepid's coxswain, a hardy, seasoned sailor of nearly forty years. Had a wife, three children, and seven grandchildren back in Plymouth, William remembered him telling him once. Now, they'd never see him again.

He took in a deep breath and exhaled. "Take a couple men and bury them." Despite their circumstances, he was determined to give their dead a proper service. They were owed that much, at least.

---

The boats of the Maelstrom rowed in not long after that.

Beside him, William and his men stood anxiously, but also curiously, waiting for their arrival, pistols and rapiers strapped to each their waists. For some strange reason he couldn't quite place, though, he had a feeling that their weapons wouldn't be necessary. Still, better to be prepared. His brows furrowed as he counted their numbers. There were only six of them, dressed in all manner of garments — and certainly nothing that resembled anything close to a Navy uniform, neither French, British, Spanish, or American, for that matter — and, most unexpectedly of all, there were women among their ranks.

Odd, he thought to himself. The men seemed to think so too, as they exchanged curious glances with one another.

"I sure hope you were right," William uttered to Aylesworth, referring to his prediction that these people meant to rescue them.

The crew of the Maelstrom finally stepped on sand and moved in toward them. The crew of the Intrepid did the same, with William leading the way and Aylesworth and Hinsley at his flank. The two groups came together in the center of the shore. He studied their faces. Each and every one of them was different in their own way, yet all still bore the same worn and weathered looks of experienced sailors. There was one in particular that drew his attention. Female, middle-aged. Carried herself with an essence of authority. She couldn't be the captain, William thought, despite the hat resting atop her head. She was a woman. And besides, no captain would risk exploring a deserted island themselves. Nor would they risk their next in command. Most likely, they would send someone else, someone expendable, down to do it.

His eyes landed on the tall, long-haired man walking beside her. He carried himself with the same air. Second in command. Will assumed, then stepped forward to greet him. "Good day to you," William said, eyeing him steadily. "First Lieutenant William Moore of the Intrepid." He introduced himself, extending a hand. "With whom might I have the pleasure of speaking?"

 

[Lost Echo]

Settled in the boat, Dextra scanned the beach as it neared. This was no mere scattering of people, this crew was united. Though guilt was obvious on some of the faces, even from this distance, no one was panicking or idle. Everyone had a task.

There was one man in particular who seemed to be caring for the wounded. A healer would be good. Their own hadn’t survived the last raid. Only bastards targeted healers. She had only lost two, but mourned each. Her back held their names, in red so she had to regularly get them touched up, unlike the black of the rest of her crew.

A few others were taking the energy to bury their dead. She counted the mounds: five. She did not know if it were mere practically: for scavenging fowl were sure to be attracted to the easy meal, or sentimentality, but she approved.

Her foot was the first to touch sand. Dextra did not believe in hiding behind her crew at anytime. These people were no threat. The lightning under her skin would keep her safe enough for any surprises. Those who joined her assembled around her, Reynir nearly beside her as her right hand man. She may be in charge, but she trusted these people. Him especially. The two of them had been friends before she had the Maelstorm, and she still considered him one.

Those who could stand gathered in front of them. What remained of their clothing was uniform--as if they dressed alike. Like a mother would her children. It made them seem like copies of each other. It did not help they were all pale men.

She watched the man they encircled, who had obviously taken charge, eye her then dismiss her. He offered his hand instead to her second in command. She interceded, “You should have gone with your first instinct Lieutenant.” Stepping forward, she offered her hand in turn. She’d dealt with men like him before. Old fashioned, who still believed women couldn’t take command. They were idiots, but she had to deal with this one. If he didn’t learn, she’d drop him off at Smuggler’s Bay.

“I’m Captain Dextra Brooks of the Maelstorm. Gunnarsson is the one who made an ass of yourself with.” She gestured toward the man with her thumb. “It looks as if you’re without your ship, Lieutenant. We saw little sign of it. I’m here to offer a place on mine.” Here, she turned to look at the man who had been working with the wounded. “We could use a healer especially. We lost ours in our last scrimmage, and far too many men without him.” Then she addressed the rest of them, “If any of you don’t wish to Hunt with us, then we’ll drop you off at the Wayfarer’s you should find passage there.”

 

[Blispy125]

Pippy

Piper hated the moments before getting to shore. The rowing was always irritating. It made her muscles ache in an unfamiliar way, despite doing it fairly often. The worse part though was the anxiety before reaching the shore. She had no idea what would happen on the shore. Getting on the little boats was one of the worst feeling in the world, it was home sickness and home coming rolled in to one.

She rowed and blew hair out of her face. She studied the men on the beach, she felt a strange sense of pity. The men looked pitiful, not all of them were injured but they were all in pain. She frowned, she tried to make herself believe that they all deserved what had happened to them. She tried to tell herself that all people expect her crew are terrible and these men were no exception.

She finally realized who these men were, feeling stupid. These men were navy, not just any navy though, British navy. Her body tensed. She could deal with any other navy but British. Why did it have to be the bloody British Navy? Couldn’t it be the French? She mentally screamed about her foolishness over and over.

When she stepped on to the sand she felt a slight comfort but not much. She wouldn’t be happy in till she got back on to the Maelstorm but she didn’t exactly need to be happy. She simply had to do her job.

Piper followed her captain. The unusual thing was that she pulled out both her pistols. She normally never pulled out a weapon without being told or shot at. She hadn’t been told to pull them out today though. She looked like she was going to kill someone and she just might.

When she spotted First Lieutenant William Moore, it was like staring at a piece of the past. She had met a man who didn’t look like him, but held himself the same way. She’d met a man of the same rank and who acted the same way. She tightened her hands on her guns.

She stared at Captain Dextra when she spoke. She couldn't believe what she was offering these men even though she had completely expected it. “Captain, I know you’re a good woman and all. It’s just… how can we just let them on the ship? How can we trust them? We don’t know these men, what have they done to make them look at all trust worthy,” as soon as she was done speaking she snapped her mouth shut. She never talked back to her captain but today she had just bursted out her thoughts.

 

[Tempestus]

Desmond Beach
Location: Deserted Island​

Desmond tensed as the sailors approached. There was talk about flags and countries earlier and from which port their ship called home. French, Spanish, Dutch...Truth is, he didn't really know enough about the world to make any judgments. One thing was certain though - these women were pissed!

"M-madam..." he stuttered, half-eying the one with double pistols drawn. She reminded him of Bloody Mary who was infamous for lopping off people's heads. "This...healer. He has medicines on board the ship? Had, I mean to say..." He could hardly think and was so exhausted from working grave detail, not to mention being shipwrecked.

Gesturing toward the wounded nearby, "Our men are in need of treatment - two of which require immediate intervention. W-with your permission...I would request leave of here at once with one of your launches." He turned to Lieutenant Moore as well, as he was beholden to him. It was not his place to interject, but for the sake of time there was not much of it.

 

[CuChulainn]

Daragh O'Malley​

---

“Let’s see who they are before you kill them Mr. O’Malley. Perhaps one of them can do your job and swab the decks, hm?” the Captain said. Daragh smiled and let the signal to lower the boat into the awaiting ocean. “What a fierce waste of my talents and good looks doing my job would be”. He smiled just as they hit the water and cast off.

Daragh grabbed one of the sets of oars and began to pull hard against the ocean current, leading the ship towards the island ahead. There was some brief respite from the sun while they hid behind the shadow of the Maelstrom, but it didn’t last. Although nothing about the sun had changed, it felt all the more oppressive out here on this rather meager rowing boat.

Daragh hated rowing, almost as much as swabbing the decks. In a world of magic, and literal flying ships he was sitting in a leaky bucket of wood rowing. He was sure there was some excuse, something about the effectiveness of flying magic on a small object like this. Or probably the cost. Maybe the Captain cheaped out and got the discount, “pirates first row boat”. Or maybe it could fly, and she had purposely yet to tell him that fact.

As they neared the island he quickly turned his head back to see who was on the island. He could just make out a few sailors, they didn’t look like pirates and they certainly didn’t look like traders. This was concerning, he didn’t say anything, and trusted the captain knew what she was doing.

Finally they reached the shore, he waited for everyone to get out and then spun the boat around so the bow faced back out into the ocean. Then he pulled it up onto the sand so it wouldn’t float away.

The men in front of him looked battered, but the two he noticed, and the ones at the front of the group looked as if they were heading to a fancy dinner. Hardly the attire for the hardworking sailor.

He rested both hands on the butts of his pistols and stood just wide of his own party and watched the interaction. Daragh noticed Pipp’s objections and found himself agreeing, there was something off about these people.

“I’m inclined to agree with Pippy” Daragh said. He looked at Will and lifted his chin. “I've seen better quality sailors crawling out of The Wayfarer at the break of dawn. But if you’re adamant I’m sure we can find something. Bilges could probably do with some work. A few years apprenticeship there and maybe they can work their way up to cleaning the shit out of the brig. If they survive.” Daragh let loose a big grin, but then he talked more softly. “Seriously though, cap? They could be anyone”

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

​

Reynir

It was hard not to feel a little smug when one of the befuddled shipwreck survivors confused him for the captain. Reynir smirked as Dextra intervened, and then turned his attention to the ragtag, waterlogged little group of men on the beach.

It wasn't any surprise to him that Pip and Daragh were up in arms about taking on the shipwrecks, but Reynir found himself thinking that the captain had the measure of it. They were pathetic, frankly. A stiff breeze would bowl them over.

"Are you both so scared of a handful of wet rats?" he asked Pip and Daragh. "Give one of them a good push and he'd fall over." To prove his point he went over to one of them and did just that, completely ignoring the drenched pistol being aimed ineffectually at him. "You see?"

code by ditto (head empty go bonk)​

 

[elanara]

mood :

pls halp

location :

the middle of fuckin nowhere

outfit :

mentions :

Lost Echo wickedlittlecritta Tempestus

interactions :

Lost Echo

FIRST LIEUTENANT

william moore

Moore, you bloody idiot. So, turns out he’d been right the first time after all. Now he and his men were not only stranded, but he’d done a splendid job of making a complete fool of himself with the one person they needed the most.

The look of embarrassment on William’s face was plain as day, and it would have only been made worse had Dextra not shaken his hand. Thankfully, she took his error in stride.

“My deepest apologies,” he said, sincerely. “A female captain is an uncommon sight where I come from.”

It was a poor excuse, he knew, but it was the truth.

The look on William's face changed as Dextra spoke. Healer? Hunt with us? The Wayfarer? His brows furrowed with confusion, trying to make sense of her words. The other members of her crew spoke as well, albeit in a far less welcoming manner. And her second in command — Gunnarson was it? — was even oh so kind enough to taunt Hinsley by pushing him to the ground.

The men of the Intrepid were clearly not pleased by this (hell, had Reynir pushed one of them, there was no doubt in Will's mind that would've caused an entire fight to break out), and neither was the young midshipman. William was visibly angered by this as well — and flashed Reynir a quick, yet razor sharp glare — but kept his cool, and simply turned and gave them all a singular, stern look, one that told them all to stand down.

Insult us all you like. He didn’t have time for any of this. Not right now.

Not when he was trying to get to the bottom of where the hell they were, and what the hell this woman was talking about.

Desmond replied as well, stuttering with his words, but anything he said fell to the back of William’s mind. Yes, he knew they had wounded. He knew they needed care, and he would make sure that they get it. And soon.

But first.

“Forgive me Captain, but we simply cannot do that. Our orders were to cross the Atlantic and rejoin the naval fleet at Trafalgar as soon as possible. Of course, you’ll be more than compensated for your troubles once we’ve arrived at port,” he stated. “I understand that it is a rather lengthy voyage. My men are experienced sailors and will be glad to help with any duties needed to be done on board. Myself included.”

It was an unspoken rule in seamanship, that when someone was in trouble, you helped them without hesitation or asking for payment. Here was to hoping Captain Dextra would abide by those rules. Or at the very least, give him some much needed answers to his questions.

coded by reveriee.

 

[Lost Echo]

The intrepid leader spoke up. She was surprised to hear an apology, but accepted it with a nod. Maybe he would learn. As long as he treated her with respect, she cared not. Still, his excuse was pathetic. Women had been captains for decades. “You must be far from home.” She chastised, not knowing the truth.

Most captains would have been embarrassed at their crew’s doubts. Dextra just laughed, her head tossed back. “Ah, the smell of mutiny in the morning,” she teased, glancing over at the younger girl. Let her learn. She was young, but she had the steel she needed. O’Malley, she Iwas unsurprised to hear from. “These men are a crew. Already they have buried their dead. We need a healer, do you think he would come with us, if we left his crew here? These men know the chances of surviving on this land: there’s barely enough for me to spit across. They’ll value their lives enough to not be stupid until we get them to the Wayfarer.” Then she grinned, a little like a shark, “Besides, if they do anything, I’ll make sure O’Malley shares.”

But none for Reynir. The ass could stay bored. She’d found that was the worst punishment she had. “These men have had a rough night without any of the fun. It’s unlikely any of their fault either.” Considering no one had claimed captain. “Tell me, were you attacked or was it a storm?” Lightning seemed to flash behind her eyes.

She let her attention shift back to the drowned rats, looking back at the healer. This time her frown was real. “Medicines? Aye.” They were for sicknesses and the rare times the healer burnt himself out. They were frustratingly low on the latter, “And the stuff to make them.” They just lacked the skill. Something she swore to rectify. You didn’t need Healing Hands to make potions.

This time, when she looked over the gathered men, she wondered who else had been injured. “How many have you healed already?” If the man could not Triage, he was useless to her. She would stand by her word, letting the men on her ship, but she’d dump them all at the Wayfarer.

“The Atlantic? Trafalgar? Bloody hell. You lads are Crossers. No wonder you look like drowned rats. There’s not a lick of magic between you, is there?” She looked at the man she’d assumed was a healer. Well, he was worthless. Still, they’d crossed the barrier. Which means a monster did too. “You’re farther from home than I’d thought Lieutenant. Welcome to Meridian. You crossed through Bermuda I expect. Our worlds might touch, but I can't take you home."

 

[Tempestus]

Desmond Beach
Location: Deserted Island​

The situation was deteriorating rapidly as more ruffians chimed in. The red-headed bloke seemed to be open-minded enough, but then there was that tall tosser. Desmond felt his blood boil as the brute was shoving his weight around. Of course he picks on the little guy.

He went to help Hinsley up off the ground and looked into the would-be captain's flashing eyes. He felt his gut wrench. Something was amiss here. "How many have I...?" All Desmond could do was apply a few makeshift tourniquets out of ripped shirts and sticks. That hardly counted as "healing" anybody, especially in such a short span of time. It would take weeks for their wounds to heal, months even. Unless...

Magic. Yup, His Majesty's Navy now had to contend with deranged cultists. They probably drank sea water as part of their daily rations and went insane at some point. "Leftenant? What on Earth is she talking about?"

 

[CuChulainn]

Daragh O'Malley​

---

Daragh kicked at the sand and watched as Reynir pushed over what appeared to be a small boy. The shipwrecked crew looked incensed and save a glance from their leader looked ready to jump to arms. His arm quickly twitched and gripped the handle of his pistol tighter, but then he relaxed as the situation defused itself.

“Oh it’s not them I’m really worried about” he said to the Captain. “It’s more a reluctance to further split my share of the pay into ever decreasing fractions. The more I drink the more it costs to get drunk you see. I have a reputation to uphold.” Daragh grinned. “Besides, I’d rather not have the ship smell like piss and shit when these lads evacuate their bowels at the mere thought of the types of otherworldly horrors they’ve yet to comprehend.”

He had no doubt these sailors would be useless in the first fight they happened upon. If they were lucky it would be pirates and their end swift and merciful. If they weren’t, well, there were things out there that even Daragh didn’t enjoy the thought of.

As the conversation waned on he decided to collapse himself onto the sand and pay attention to other things. The island was quiet, there seemed to be no sound of wildlife anywhere, no birds, no bugs. Ominous. The only sound was the gentle lapping of waves against the golden shore. He hated being this far from the ship, on an island as far from anywhere as you could be. The idea of paddling the small piece of driftwood they called a boat back to the ship in a crisis was not appealing.

And the lack of sound, it concerned him. Maybe it was paranoia, after all, why would such a destitute island in fuck knows where have any animal life at all. But he didn’t like it one bit, and as the sun beat down, ever more oppressive in the sky above he got impatient, and irritated. He trusted his gut. His unease grew and grew. He kept looking back to the Maelstrom. It was still there. In the same place it was when he checked 5 seconds ago. Still, and silent against an endless blue horizon.

After a few more moments he couldn’t take it any longer, it might have just been the heat but he had enough of this weird island. Daragh interrupted, finally bored of the parley. “Can we just get the fuck off this island now? If some nameless spawn of the deep doesn’t kill me this fucking sun will”. He walked back towards the small boat, uninterested in the reactions of those behind him. His brow was caked in sweat. He bent down, and splashed water on his face before pushing the small boat into the shallow water ever so slightly and waited for the rest to follow

 

[Blispy125]

Pippy
Piper laughed at the men. She didn’t understand how they could be so stupid. Meridian always felt so different to her than any other place in the other plane. She shook her head not able to believe someone couldn’t feel a difference.

She gritted her teeth when Reynir kicked Hinsley. Somehow she managed to tighten her hold on her guns even more. She looked almost like a string that someone had pulled both ends of as far as they could. She hated people picking on children (he might be a teenage boy but that was a child to her) people were meant to look after the weak not kick them to prove how unafraid they were. She didn’t say anything about it, because crew came before anyone else, and she didn’t particularly want to start an argument with a crew mate.

Piper listened to her captains words carefully. She didn’t wish to speak out of turn once. She still had a large frown on her face when she nodded and replied “Yes, Captain.” Her voice still sounded uneasy to her own ear.

She studied Daragh. He was impatient as ever, never able to slow down. He had loosen his hold on his weapon. Piper still had waited to do so, she might be holding on to her weapons in till they had no more sailors on the ship. Or maybe in till she was dead.

When he complained she decided to, though reluctantly, give him her last small bottle of alcohol she had been hoarding. “As much I agree with you Daragh, which we might have to check up on that, the world might be burning as we speak, we have to let the captain talk through this with the sailors,” she spoke in a her usual quiet tone but with much more humor than usual. The alcohol was no where near enough to get him drunk, but maybe it would make him shut up for a bit.

After gifting Daragh the current possession that was keeping her alive she went back to studying the sailors. They all looked well, English and sad. The person she studied the most was the one useful person there, the doctor. He didn’t exactly look useful though, she wasn’t sure if it was because of his ship sinking, but he looked like he could be pushed by the wind. Could he even swim?

 

[elanara]

mood :

pls halp

location :

the middle of fuckin nowhere

outfit :

mentions :

Lost Echo wickedlittlecritta Tempestus

interactions :

Lost Echo

FIRST LIEUTENANT

william moore

Not a lick of magic. Crossers. Meridian.

Oh, if only William could see the look on his face right now.

“You crossed through Bermuda I expect. Our worlds might touch, but I can’t take you home.”

“I beg your pardon?” He practically blurted out, both eyebrows raised, mouth open, hands on his hips.

He blinked, the expression in his eyes nothing but pure disbelief. These people are completely mad, he said to himself. Still, as hard as this was all to believe, he couldn't help but feel there was some level of truth to Captain Dextra's words.

The talkative, unnecessarily uncouth man with red hair — Daragh was it? — continued yapping on. Something about otherworldly horrors and all that. William frowned. In all his years in the navy, he couldn’t think of anything more horrifying than the sheer chaos and brutality of battle. He’d been lucky to survive many of them, though the psychological toll of it all was a different matter altogether. To think that something worse than all that existed was not possible in his mind.

And yet.

He thought back to the creature they had encountered the previous night. Was that what this red-headed bloke was referring to? Were there even bigger, more terrifying creatures than that here, in this god forsaken place? Or had that all been a dream, and these people, whoever they were, were simply a motley band of vagabonds and deserters of whatever nations they once served, now flying under their own independent flag?

“Leftenant? What on earth is she talking about?” Desmond asked.

As if William knew the answer.

“I'm not quite sure — ” he replied, quickly weighing the risks of both options in his mind. Stay, and they were certainly dead. Go, and maybe have a chance of survival and going home. It wasn't a hard decision to make. “ — but we're going with them.” He tone was firm and final. Around him, the men of the Intrepid's faces soured. It was clear they didn't agree with his choice. But they kept quiet nonetheless.

William turned his attention back to Dextra. “We shall be grateful for your help, Captain. And I can assure you — ” he gave a pointed look in Daragh, Piper, and Reynir's direction, “ — my men and I will more than earn our keep.”

coded by reveriee.

 

[elanara]

​

❝ THE FIRST BATTLE. ❞

location: the maelstrom, somewhere in the great sea, roughly two hundred and fifty nautical miles south of Smuggler's Bay

​

It's the middle of the night.

Aside from those on watch, the crew of the Maelstrom is fast asleep.

After being rescued off the deserted island, the men of the Intrepid were quickly put to work, helping with any and all tasks that needed to be done aboard and overseen by Daragh O'Malley. The lieutenants and officers were not granted special treatment either, and were made to scrub decks, handle the sails, and perform all sorts of miscellaneous tasks same as the other men.

The doctor, Desmond Beach, was finally able to tend to the wounded of both crews. At the end of the long day, everyone turned in for the night, swaying to sleep in hammocks on the gun-deck.

Not far off in the distance, the Dreadnaught has come up on the Maelstrom's exact position, using their shadow magic to conceal their ship until the very last second. When the right moment came, the first canon blows were fired, raining a hail of blackfyre down onto their vulnerable prey.

Caught off guard, the crew of the Maelstrom scramble to their battle stations, with Reynir and Daragh leading their crews on the gun deck, and Piper picking off the Dreadnaught's men one by one from the crow's nest. Down below in the belly of the ship, Dr. Beach is preparing for any wounded that will inevitably come his way.

And just overhead, the formation of a violent storm is brewing.

 

[elanara]

jin

Sometime in the middle of the night...

Jin was jolted awake by the sound of canon fire.

After many years at sea, her brain was practically hard-wired to recognize the sound. She wasted little time gathering her thoughts. Nor did she need to. She always knew exactly what to do in times like these, and was quick to set aside any emotions she might be experiencing in exchange for pure, mechanical movement.

Boots on, weapons at the waist, up the ladder and to the helm — or anywhere else the captain commanded her to go.

When she made it to the quarterdeck, everything was already in a state of chaos. People scrambled to and fro, frantically running to their stations amidst a rain of canon and gun-fire. Splinters of wood went flying everywhere as the Dreadnaught's canons struck, fires were swiftly put out by watering crews. Down below, their guns fired back, causing the entire ship to tremble and shake.

Through it all, Jin zig-zagged her way through the commotion, her long, jet-black hair flying around her from the wind of the oncoming storm. She came up right beside Dextra, eyes dead-set on a black, shadowy outline just barely visible against the night sky.

The Dreadnaught.

It was hard not to be terrified by the sight of her, and if any of their men said they weren't she'd know they were a damn liar. She was more than twice the Maelstrom's size with more than twice her guns, captained by a man who's reputation for being a cutthroat man greatly exceeded him. If they were taken prisoner, they would not survive. That much she knew.

But that wasn't going to happen. It wasn't cockiness or arrogance that made her believe that. It was a fact. She'd been through plenty of battles with Dextra to the point where she trusted her completely to get them through this. And Jin was confident they'd she'd get them through this one.

Another gust of wind, this one stronger than the one before it.

Jin glanced up at the twirling clouds in the sky, illuminated by great flashes of lightning and canon-fire, grinning slightly.

“Your orders, Captain?”

 

[Lost Echo]

”Leftenant? What on Earth is she talking about?”

Dextra rolled her eyes. Earth, right, that was the name for the other world. She could see the disbelief in the bedraggled crew. As if it couldn’t exist if they didn’t have it. Surely they at the least noticed the sea monster that shipwrecked them? It wasn’t as if the barrier broke for anything else. She was about to call lightning, starting to raise her hand, when Daragh distracted her.

She matched his grin, then turned to look at the Lieutenant, “I expect these men would be more interested in getting home, than joining up. We’ll take them to the Wayfarer. Let them see what Marek knows.” She agreed: these men would be useless fighting sea monsters.

She was pleased to see Piper share that flask she’d been hoarding. The woman was taut as a bowstring, and the last thing they needed was for her to fire. Dextra understood her misgivings, but not why she was so upset.

Making a note to speak with her later, as the Lieutenant was speaking, she nodded, “Wise choice. We’ll be sure to put you to use.” She turned, “Well, let’s get you onto the ships. We wouldn’t want O’Malley to melt like a pretty princess, would we?”

~​

At the first blast of cannon fire, Dextra was out of her bunk, her feet sliding into her boots, then she was up and through the door. Her body on automatic before thoughts could wake. It was only as she entered the smoke filled deck that she saw what was happening. “Bloodery Fuck.”

Obviously she recognized the Dreadnaught. Raske and she hadn’t been friendly, even before she left, but to attack them? She thought of the map she had hidden away somewhere on the ship. It was the only reason the man would attack. He’d gone to piracy, but he should know they hadn’t killed anything yet. But how did he know? The only one she’d told was…

Then Jin was before her and she had to focus. “We’ll need our heavy hitters up top.” Catching sight of the Lieutenant, she called out, “Mr. Moore! Get your men on the guns. O’Malley, you’re up with me.” Everyone else knew what to do. Her crew was well trained. Climbing the stairs two at a time, she took a moment to breathe in the power growing above her. She raised her hands to add her own. Her crew knew how to fight in the rain, but it had been a decade since she’d been on the Dreadnaught. Most ships avoided confrontation during the weather.

 

[elanara]

There she was.

A set of white sails on the horizon, glinting in the moonlight. The blue flag at the highest tip of her main waved in the wind, but even without it, Raske knew exactly who they were. The Maelstrom. Finally, after two months at sea, he'd finally caught up to her.

Her crew wouldn't notice them until it was too late, of course. And even then, it would still take someone with a very keen, masterful eye to point them out. With his magic, Raske casted a perfectly black shadow against the Dreadnaught, blotting them out against an already pitch black sky that grew darker and darker as the approaching storm drew near. Before long, large storm clouds engulfed the sky, blocking out the moon and stars at a steadily increasing pace. In the distance, flickers of lightning were all that lit up the sky, gradually becoming more intense with each passing minute.

Simply put, he'd made the Dreadnaught practically invisible. And, if what his informant had told him was correct, the Maelstrom had no seers on board. Only a motley crew of drunken sailors all captained by his former comrade and protoge. Though, word of a particular songbird did give him some pause for concern. Dextra's abilities he was no stranger too, and knew how to maneuver around. But a woman that could cripple an entire ship with the use of her voice alone? Well. That would make for an interesting fight, indeed.

He was far from worried, however, especially considering he had the advantage.

His salt and peppered beard caught in the strong gust of wind blew past him as he stood upright on the quarter deck, observing the Maelstrom through his spyglass.

She was so close, he could almost feel the other half of the map in his hands already. Another gust of wind rushed past, followed by the gentle pitter-patter of rain. If he had to drag Dextra into battle in the midst of a violent storm — in kraken infested waters, no less — to secure his prize, then so be it.

Just then, Nsako, his trusted second in command, came up beside him. "Your orders, sir?" She said.

Raske closed the spyglass shut. "We'll come up on their broadside and hit them with the guns. But not too heavily. She's worth more to us crippled than dead."

"Aye sir." Nsako replied, then rushed below decks to the guns. Along the side of the ship, the gun flaps came open, and the batteries were run out. Within seconds, bursts of white-hot blackfyre were fired one after the other, aiming for the main mast, filling his ears to the brim with the sounds of actual thunder and canon fire. It would be enough to immobilize the Maelstrom, but not sink her whole.

Raske glanced up at the sky. A blinding white flash of lighting reflected off his eyes, briefly illuminating the outline of his ship.

By now the crew Maelstrom had finally noticed them, but even then, it was likely far too late.

 

[elanara]

William sprung to action at the first sound of gunfire. The rest of his men followed suit behind him. While they were strangers to this unknown land they now found themselves, they were no stranger to battle. And when it came down to it, they operated together like a well-oiled machine. Fast, steadied, and focused.

Still, as he climbed the decks to meet with Dextra, he couldn't help but wonder how on earth the person on watch could've let an enemy ship slip from his sight. But as he looked around, he couldn't see much of anything himself. Just darkness. A storm building in the distance. The black, empty expanse of open sea.

"I don't see anything," he said.

"There, look." The cabin boy by the name of Oliver pointed. They had met earlier that afternoon, whilst the Intrepid crew were made to holy stone the deck. William squinted in the direction he pointed, barely making out a paper-thin outline of a man-o-war against the night sky. His brows furrowed and he had the most quizzical expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, but I d —" he was immediately cut off by another blast of canon-fire. He grabbed Oliver by the shirt and yanked him to the floor right as it hit. Just overhead, a million wooden splinters went flying. A wave of intense heat came with it next, melting the skin clean off the man standing beside them. The poor sod hadn't been directly hit, but he happened to be standing close enough to the path of the projectile to still be affected by it.

William looked on with shock filled eyes. He'd seen a lot of terrible things before, but nothing quite like this.

"Blackfyre, sir." Oliver informed him. "These are just the small ones."

William blinked. "Right." He didn't dare think what sort of damage the heavier ones might do.

At any rate. He got back up to his feet as the enemy ship reloaded. That's when Dextra appeared, her navigator at her side.

“Mr. Moore! Get your men on the guns. O’Malley, you’re up with me.” She ordered.

"Yes, Captain," William nodded swiftly. Down below, he met Reynir on the gun-deck. After the events of this morning, he wasn't pleased to be working with him, but was willing to do what was necessary to make sure they all survived the night. "Mr. Gunnarson, my men and I here to assist." He took a quick look around. Fourteen guns on each side. Not nearly enough men. Even with the extra manpower of the Intrepid, they were lacking in numbers.

William and his men took to the unattended guns next to Reynir's crew, and had given them the order to fire when another blast of enemy fire hit. Before he knew it, he was flung backward, blistering hot splinters flying all around him. A loud ringing filled his ears. Slowly, he blinked, the muffled world around him was that of complete, smoke-filled chaos. Still, through the tiny window of the gunport, he could finally make out the enemy ship as it slowly became visible.

Only by now, they were close enough to soon try and board them.


—————————



wickedlittlecritta Lost Echo

 

[elanara]

jaqcueline

​

Ah. 'Ere we go again.

While the rest of the crew hustle to their stations, Jac scurries down to the orlop where she joins the new healer — eh, doctor, or whatever he is — and helps him prepare the infirmary for the coming wave of injured that they both know are coming. This isn't her first time at sea. Nor is it her first battle. But judging from the looks of it this Desmond Beech fellow seems to be facing a battle of his own, that battle being a big ol bundle of nerves.

She looks to him and sighs. Her lips coming together in a semi-impatient, thin pressed line.

Apparently, from what the other ships leader said, this man was educated. Well-practiced in medicine and highly regarded by the members of his shipwrecked crew. But he was a Crosser, and as a crosser, he possessed no magic. How in the world he was going to help any of them at all, she was not sure. Still, she supposed he was better than nothing.

That being said, of course, she wasn't that much useful, either. While she might have been the previous healer's assistant and had learned as much as she could before he died, she had barely been able to master the many spells necessary to become anything more than a simple tailor. She could heal cuts and scrapes, perhaps magically pluck out a bullet or two, but were that bullet to get lodged inside a major artery, or anything worse than that, well. That was beyond her skillset.

So. Needless to say, she was nervous as all fuck, too.

She'd dealt with death before, yes, but at least back then the wounded would die under the healer's hands. Now that he was gone, things were different. Somehow, she felt the burden of responsibility to be a bit heavier. And she couldn't bear to think of anyone dying under her. Though, she wouldn't be doing it alone, would she?

After tying her apron around her waist, she looked up at Mr. Beech with a firm, yet foreboding look. "Ready?" She asked him, the look in her eyes anticipating of the chaos that was about to come.



Tempestus

 

[CuChulainn]

Daragh had barely settled down for a few minutes when he heard it. Thwump, thwump, thwump. Eyes flashed open. He had hoped it was just in his mind, but then came the dreaded whistling sound as a handful of canon balls whooshed over the deck of the Maelstrom.

“Fuck” he sighed, rolling out of his hammock. The next ball crashed into the side of the ship somewhere below and the ship rolled slightly. “Up you get you fucking lazy bastards” he roared at the crew. People were already scrambling out of their own sleep spots and dazedly running around the deck. “Come on you useless shower of shits, those bastards won’t turn to flotsam on their own”. Daragh pushed sailors towards the canons as they scrambled out of their beds.

The gun ports began to lift open and the first guns were rolled into position as the crew finally got into their places. The “thwump thwump thwump” of the enemy cannons grew louder and and more persistent, they were getting closer. They began hitting their target, with more consistency as the Maelstrom began to take more and more hits.

He peeped out of the nearest gun port but all he could see was darkness. “Where the fuck are you”. “Thwump thwump thwump thwump thwump”. “There” he shouted. In the distance he caught a very subtle flash of a canon muzzle. It was far too subtle, and he suspected there was magic involved. They weren’t quite aligned but he figured it would be worth a punt.

“Alright you fucks, I want a full broadside on my signal, 80 roundshot, 20 chain”. The crew was now mostly in their place and waiting for a command. He looked around for Reynir but couldn’t see him yet. Daragh steadied himself against the hull and shouted. “FIRE”.

In the split second after it sounded like the world had ended. The deck was filled with a deafening roar of a hundred canon all firing in unison. The Maelstrom itself lurched at the ungodly firepower being belched from the side of the ship, and each of the canons slammed backwards with the recoil. He doubted the full broadside would do much or even hit anything at this range. But he always found it to be intimidating, and helped the crew steady themselves. It was also cool as fuck he thought.

He heard the captain shout his name and requested him on the top deck. He didn’t envy the crew down here. Cannonball fire was deadly sure, but it wasn’t the cannons that were most lethal, it was the hundreds and thousands of wooden splinters being smashed from the side of the ship that he knew would kill most sailors. He was happy not to be part of it this time.

Daragh went back towards the bunk where he was sleeping and uncovered a small metal pouch of alcohol. The finest whiskey produced in Tír na nÓg. There was a small amount of the drinkleft and took one swig for himself. It would be a long while before he could replace this again, he thought. The liquid burned the back of his neck and he felt the warmth surge throughout his body. He tucked the flask into his pants and as he turned a canon hit the side of the ship. He had turned just in time to see a sailor be incinerated by the blast. He noticed two of the new folks they’d picked up from the island narrowly avoid the same fate. He left, assured that Reynir would probably be here soon to manage the crews.

On deck he took a look around as the wind whipped and the rain began to pelt against his face. He could just about make out a sort of clouded shape in the distance but that was all.

Daragh looked up to the crows nest, unsure if Pippy was there or not. He couldn’t see and there would be no point shouting up in this wind. He pulled out the flask and threw it, arcing it up and into the nest. He didn’t even check to see if it landed by anyone before turning away.

Then, Daragh carefully pulled off his shirt and tucked it behind a pile of boxes. Throwing his head back and looking up into the sky he let out a roar that would make even the gods shiver. His eyes glowed blue, and the black, triskele tattoos on his chest began to subtly pulse the same shade. His skin changed to a thick leathery material as the muscles on his arms and chest grew. He roared once more, and lifted his right hand to the sky. The long bone shaft of the Gae Bolg spear began to form from a silvery liquid from his palm. The shaft was crafted from the long bones of dead sea monsters, and the point was reminiscent of a huge shark tooth with dozens of barbed blades on either side.

Daragh stood there, looking like a hero from the stories of old. They may have started the fight, but he’d make sure they would regret it.

---

Daragh walked up to the deck besides Jin and the Captain.

“Well Jin” he said softly. The tattoos on his chest continued to pulse a faint blue, and they swirled about his chest. “I’ll try to leave some of the weaker looking ones for you”. He winked, smiled, and then laughed to himself. The rain began to fall harder and Daragh took a deep breath of the cold, sea air. He was looking forward to this. It had been far too long.

 

[Lost Echo]

Even after all these years, Dextra was still used to picking out the Dreadnaught’s outline against the dark. It was covered, you couldn’t see the waves on the other side, but she realized others probably couldn’t see it at all. Turning, she spotted Myra, her light shining, even in the moonless night.

Calling a gust of wind, she sent her voice down to her, “Kid, go up and give us something to see. Light that ship up like it’s daytime.” Knowing she’d be obeyed, she greeted the shirtless O’Malley with a smirk. “Let’s make them regret this.” The man was bloodthirsty, and they hadn’t found a monster in far too long. This would sate his appetite.

She turned and faced the storm once more. It was powerful. She felt heady as if she were in amongst the growing clouds instead of her boots firm against the wood. Lightning was building inside and it was an easy thing to do, to send it to the other ship. It was closer after all, at least twice the size of the Maelstrom.

She hadn’t been able to do this ten years ago. Both her power and her control had grown. She’d touched every inch of her ship. Imbued it with her power. It was a part of her, and thus she could protect it from lightning, even the backlash from a strike so close.