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TheEyeOfNight

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TheEyeOfNight last won the day on December 29 2018

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About TheEyeOfNight

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  1. Thanks for hanging in there, gang. No more cross-country moves in my immediate future, so we can move into maximum chaos mode!
  2. “Fucking hell, this is the best you could come up with?” Roht didn't answer, but he couldn't muster a snarl in response either. He wasn't thrilled with Lynch's ramshackle militia any more than Tana was, but he wasn't going to voice that opinion eight seconds before the attack. The men would suffice, he supposed, in making a lot of noise, causing a scene, and probably getting themselves killed in the process. Maybe that was the point. He shook his head to himself. Lynch would have told him, if that was the point. He was sure Lynch would have told him. Roht opened his mouth to spit some retort, and she was gone like an arrow from the shadows, spearing across the open space and towards the massive ship. He snatched up his axe, grinding his teeth at her impetuous charge, and glancing again towards the opening of the harbor, waiting for the distant flash of the vampire's chore. If this woman ruined their attack by- He let the train of thought fall away, as she scrambled up the side of the ship in absolute silence. The woman was a goddamned spider. Six seconds passed, then seven and eight, and just as the fur was starting to rise on the back of his neck, the entrance to the harbor lit up with the flash of an instant sunrise. Straining, tense muscles propelled him in an instant leap, sailing out from the alley and landing with a meaty thud just ahead of the nearest smuggler. He was so excited, he nearly forgot to give the command. “Get 'em!” Roht roared, swinging his axe in an upwards stroke, catching the first smuggler under the chin, ruining his face in a spray of blood and sending him tumbling off the dock. He was halfway through a follow-up backhand into the next smuggler when he heard his reinforcements arrive. The fishermen roared, screamed, and flooded out from the alleyway in a raging tide of pent-up anger, swinging staves and knives, a paltry few waving old pistols and firing shots into the night sky. They crashed into the smugglers as a single mob, and the collision drove several of the intruding sailors stumbling back over the edge of the dock. Bricks flew, sticks rose and fell, and Roht's eyes turned up towards the deck of the ship. A smuggler tumbled over the ship's railing, clutching at his throat and trailing blood in an odd helix as he spun into the sea. Whatever the spider woman was up to, Roht made a note to buy her a drink afterwards. He started sprinting towards the ship. * * * * Complacence was, as Avarice was fond of saying, the most dangerous of enemies. The crew of the Queen struggled to react to the intruder on the deck, unprepared for an attack and certainly unprepared for...whatever this woman was. They ran out onto the deck in a steady stream, some pulling their clothes on, other brandishing rifles or knives. Amongst them, the gunner's mate was laughing. He couldn't believe that it was actually happening: the insolence of the Silver Harbor citizens had reaching suicidal levels, and he was now free to rain death and fire on their town. The Queen had never truly been unleashed on a town, and until this moment, he was sure that it never would. Shoving the nearest sailor out of his way, he snatched up the nearest cannon's firing line, yanking it back and raising his pistol to the sky. “Wrath and ruin, boys! Wrath an-” The cannon boomed, slamming backwards and breaking both of his legs in a sudden crunch, crashing into the weapon emplacement next to it. The cannonball went wild, sailing into some unknown point in the city, bursting with a distant thunderclap. Around the railings, the smugglers were shouting to their compatriots on the docks, yelling for their friends and crewmen to get clear. Some of the braver souls opened fire with their rifles, and were rewarded with the bloody splash of bodies into the water. They were shouting, screaming, trying to get a grip on what was happening. No one could see the captain. They were in chaos. A wild series of bursts exploded the thick wooden planks by Tana's feet, misguided by the adrenaline of its gunner. From the quarterdeck, elevated above the madness, a heavyset smuggler with a whaleskin vest had swung the repeating gun from its position aiming at the docks and was training it on the agile operative. The ammunition belt hissed as it dragged across the deck, and his thick fingers convulsed on the triggers, abandoning his crewmen on the shore in order to dispense with this pest on the deck of the ship. * * * * Avarice clasped his hands behind his back as he walked, breathing the fresh, cool air and counting his steps. Both the clasped hands and step-counting were minor habits, picked up in childhood to mask his nervousness. While he would never admit to nervousness as an adult, the habits helped to ground him and keep his mind focused when chaos erupted. He had memorized, over dozens of visits to the governor's mansion, how many steps he needed from one building to the next at a leisurely pace. The frequency of his visits was beginning to aggravate the governor, but that was unimportant. It was important that he timed his arrival correctly. It was important that the guards knew his face. The pair stationed at the gate raised their hands in friendly greeting as he approached. “Mr. Lynch! Sorry, but the governor's in for the nigh-” As if on cue, the harbor behind them lit up with a sudden flash of golden-red, fading quickly into a burning beacon at the far end of the harbor. They still had twenty seconds before the sound, like a clap of thunder, would arrive at Silver Harbor, but Avarice was loath to waste any time at all. The two guards stumbled back in surprise and shock, their eyes fixed on what their minds struggled to comprehend. “The port is under attack.” Avarice replied calmly. “We need to move the governor and his family.” “Right...right!” The guards regained their bearings and spun around, waving to the others and charging towards the house. “Lads! To the governor!” Avarice counted three seconds, to let their panic fully set in, and followed behind them.
  3. ((And we're back! All societal, familial, and occupational obligations from the move are finished, so let's get this ball sinking)) Captain Alken Rand liked a lot of things. Short cigars. Lukewarm bourbon. Salt air on the cusp of a storm at sea. He did not like surprises. Rand pulled the door to his cabin open, aggravated by the sudden interruption during the Queen's vulnerable period, and his eyes drew keen on the sailor escorting Gachi. They silently spoke of painful things, like fire and keelhauling, or the more imminent tools of murder scattered around the cabin. The saber laying across the length of his deck would work. The pistol in the top drawer, perhaps, or the one hanging on the back of his chair, holstered in a thick leather belt. Hell, even the trophy spear that hung on the wall at the cabin's back: a prize from dueling a tribal chief on the southwestern coast in a ritual meeting. “Ah, Captain!” The girl to the sailor's left drew his attention. She was a pretty one, but a long trek at sea would make anyone seem that way. The bright red of her clothing made her stand out among the sailors like a flower in a dirt patch, and there was an exquisite, smooth beauty to her neatly curled black hair. “Pardons, Captain.” The smuggler touched a finger to his brow, in a half-mocking tribute to a naval salute. The captain demanded such discipline from his crew, either as a measure of discipline or as a tribute to Rand's own past. “She says she’s a whore. A present from...” “…Magistrate Vess or some politic. I got word of it at Louie’s brothel.” The girl piped up, Rand scowled sharply, the unkempt beard distorting as he did. He didn't like Louie, at least from the two times he and the tavern-keeper had crossed paths. But Louie was a sharp one, and offering gifts to the keep the wolves at bay seemed like something he would try. The captain reached out to touch Gachi's cheek, playing a finger up through her curls. There was a faint smell, but he couldn't place it. Perfume, maybe. Anything in Silver Harbor that didn't smell of fish could qualify as perfume. An ache was in his chest, with an aftershock between his legs. He supposed, reluctantly, that he could enjoy some spoils tonight. He waved his hand once, and the smuggler tapped his brow again before ducking out. Pulling Gachi gently into the room, he clicked the lock firmly behind him. No more interruptions. “Would you like a drink?” Rand gestured to the impressive display of spirits on a corner shelf. His favorite prize to take from rival ships: it seemed every captain kept a bottle of their favorite liquor in their cabins, and Rand always made it the first demand when boarding. It was a deliberate demand: if the captain acquiesced, then that personal sacrifice made them less likely to put up a fight when they took the cargo. If they refused, then the murder could commence immediately without beating around the bush. “If you have any rum, I'll be a lucky gal.” His hand stopped, halfway to a fine vintage whiskey he had seized from a merchant in Port Thea. Instead, he produced a smooth, dark rum and poured a pair of glasses, trying to banish the uneasy feeling in the back of his head. The smell of her perfume in the small cabin was making that a lot easier. Rand fell back into the chair as she was on him, the world distorting into a swirl of chaos and lust. The rosy smell of her hair was deep in his lungs, narrowing his tunnel vision to the feel of her on his lap, and the teasing lines of her collarbone leading down towards her breasts. “Help me with the corset.” Captain Alken Rand like a lot of things. He had a feeling that this girl was about to be one of them. The sudden pain in his back drove that delusion from his like mist scattering in the wind, bringing his mind back to the present in chilling moment. The saber was still on the desk behind her. The pistol, in its drawer, out of reach from where the chair had slid backwards. The one on the back of his chair was far closer to her hand than his. And the damned tribal spear seemed really stupid now. “Vess finally grew a set, did he?” Rand gritted his teeth, uncourteously resting both hands on Gachi's ass. Might as well enjoy something before she cut his spine in half. “Never thought the little piss-bag would. What do you want?” * * * * The Red Venom was, in the heartbeat before Reinhardt's explosives bloomed, a menacing gunship boasting twin arrays of both point-defense and long-barrage weapons, among the finest magitech the smugglers could find or steal. Alken Rand had, on more than occasional, joked that he should prohibit smoking on her deck, for fear that so much anger and firepower would spontaneously combust and leave him one ship short. The underwater charges blinked into pinpoints of light in the dusky waters, flash-boiling the water around them and sending tendrils of fire up through the four layers of oak and iron of the Venom's underbelly. The first tore open a cargo compartment, dealing minimal damage but opening the ship to a torrent of water as Silver Harbor itself began to exact its vengeance on the intruder. The second charge, dislodged by the shockwave, failed to penetrate the deck armor, sending twin plumes of spraying seawater up into the air on either side of the gunship. The third struck the forward magazine, where the Venom's munitions had been carefully catalogued, stacked, and arranged according to Rand's specifications. At the time of the attack, there two-hundred and forty-three live munitions below deck, waiting to be unleashed. The spears of fire, erupting up through the doomed ship's hull, began to cook off the munitions laterally, sending projectiles rocketing through walls and burning through doors below deck. The fireball, undeterred by the torrent of water waiting to pour in after it, flowed around the projectiles and mines like a flood, until it reached the top of the cramped space. Accompanied by the deafening cacophony of munitions firing in all random directions, the temperature in the tight space reached an intolerable level, and nearly four full seconds after Reinhardt had pressed the detonator, the magazine went critical. The earliest settlers had named Silver Harbor for the beautiful sheen of the limestone cliffs as they shone silver light on the water. On this night, those waters turned gold under the fire that was the Red Venom as the explosion tore the ship in half horizontally, scattering timbers for a quarter-mile and leaving the tattered, burnt bottom half of the ship to sink to the harbor floor. ((Part 2 coming this afternoon pending final QC. @Darling König @Dizzy00 @AngryCacti ))
  4. Hey gang, sorry for the long silence, but I have internet hooked up at the new place as of this morning. I'll catch up on the weekend and get back in the game. Thanks for your patience!
  5. Silver Harbor always bowed to the Queen's approach. Window shutters were locked tight, no children played in the lamp-lit darkness, and no voices broke the strange tension of the city streets. Even the fishing boats were drawn close to the pier, parting for a respectful gap that left an entire dock for the smuggling vessel. It was not an invitation, but a compliance: past experience had taught the fishermen that any boat left in the Iron Queen's dock would be wreckage by morning. The enormous hull drove a wedge through the still water like a wading beast, flying flags of war and plunder. The twin rows of magitech guns and cannon, placed along its railings, tracked each of the little boats as they passed, alert for any motion and ready to turn the harbor red with fire if needed. It was an unchallenged juggernaut, striding into the harbor as an alpha predator. Slowly, the ship eased its pace, coming up along the rickety dock with a well-practiced drift. The beast shuddered, though not as much as the dock did, as the two brushed together. The crew stood ready with loops of cord and heavy rope in their hands, crouching by the railing and turning their eyes to the upper deck. The gunners swept the waterfront with the barrels of their weapons, tense and ready for whichever command came down. From the mouth of the harbor, a distant speck of light flashed twice: the Red Venom, signalling all clear. From the Queen's upper deck, Captain Rand turned and blew a cloud of smoke from his lips, surveying the city's waterfront for a long moment. Something felt strange about this night, something that raised the hairs on his sun-baked neck and caused a twinge in his stomach. The sleepy town had not given him cause to worry in years, a fact that put to rest any misgivings he was having this evening. Maybe his stomach was upset about the fish from earlier. He flicked his cigar forward, and teams of smugglers swung into action, tossing ropes and tethers from the Queen to the docks. Most of the gunners left their posts, lending needed hands to the bucket brigades which strained to haul up the first crates and boxes. Rand nodded, without a smile, and dismissed the bad feeling with another draw on his cigar. "Get it going." * * * * Roht's blood was up. He ground his teeth together, watching the smugglers move through the alley's opening. He had tried to count, and had lost track within seconds, it was like counting ants building a mound. There were a lot of them, that was certain, and they were moving with confidence and practiced motion. They also weren't paying a lot of attention to their surroundings. That was Lynch's second-favorite word: complacence. Roht was half-slouched by a mound of trash in the alleyway, his axe pressed up against the shadows of the brick building, so the glint of metal would not warn any of their prey prematurely. The biggest threat to their position, however, was the frantic whispering of the half-drunk riot leader, Mr. Hollon, who stood just behind him and hissed words and spittle all over Roht's fur as he tighted the wraps of sailcloth around his arms: the best most of them could do for armor on short notice. "We could gut 'em each as they leave the boat! Look at 'em! Pike 'em one at a time!" The gnoll squeezed his eyes closed against the latest barrage of stupidity. "Shut. Up." The man threw his hands up, reaching for the fishing lance he had resting against the wall. "No sense waiting on this, let's just-" "Look at your shoes." Hollon paused, his stream of words interrupted suddenly. "What?" "Your shoes." The senior fisherman blinked in confusion, lowering his head to glance at the beaten, worn-out black boots concealing his toes. A heavy, furred paw swung around to the back of his head, gripping his skull with the ease of a child grasping a stone, holding his eyes down and preventing him from moving. Roht's voice lowered to a feral growl, keeping his tone soft to avoid alerting the smugglers ahead. "We move when Lynch says we move. Rheinhardt's gotta hit the Venom, Gachi's gotta get in there, and the Ta's aren't here yet." Up ahead, the first of the smugglers had already leaped onto the deck and begun to stack crates along the waterfront. The first few boxes were small, probably furs and individual precious items. The heavy coin would come later, and it would try all their patience to hold their strike until that time came. Roht turned his yellow eyes back, over Hollon's bent head, and to the rest of the fishermen waiting in a tense mass. His gaze spoke of immediate death and slower dismemberment for any who went early. "Hold your asses."
  6. Love it. And pardon the absence, been prepping to move to the East Coast (U.S.) in about a month, so stuff's been crazy. Will have the opening of the raid night up this evening! EDIT: And my life heard me say "this evening" and took it as a challenge. Will have it up tomorrow, sorry gang
  7. Every member of their trinity had their skills and abilities, from Avarice's cunning and foresight to Roht's stubborn brute strength and unending loyalty. Of the three, Sorano's were the most mystical and the most dangerous: a woman without a past, and her twin divine weapons that he was certain could blow holes clean through this deck and into whatever lay below them. When she spoke of them humming and warning her, Avarice knew better than to doubt. He reached out to take her hand as it lay on her chest, and brought it to his lips gently, stepping close to her as he did. His other arm set the goblet down and circled her waist, drawing her close as if for a dance. The reassuring smile was back, but a genuine admiration and adoration showed through. He could always count on his companions to speak their minds, and they could always count on him to listen. “Thank you. We'll keep ourselves on the move during the trip, there are enough spare rooms for us to stay mobile for the remaining days. Our hostile player will either disembark before we do, or we'll know that we carry them in our own entourage.” He exchanged a quick glance with Roht, who huffed audibly, but nodded reluctantly. So much for a relaxing cruise for any of them: mobility had long proved to be the key to survival, and evading assassins, during their exile from Terrenus. Avarice stole a soft kiss from Sorano and inclined his head towards the window. “The truth is, I'm less concerned about our journey and more worried about our destin-” “Attention on deck!” The captain's voice, slightly slurred from drink and relaxation, echoed through the ship, carried by magitech conduits to the relevant decks. “The dinner compartment will close in twenty minutes, and we will begin our descent towards Joran City.” Roht raised his head from the couch, lip curling in confusion and curiosity. Avarice waved him off, and shook his head, lowering his voice. “This isn't our stop. We will be the last landing, an unscheduled and unannounced visit to the northern coastline. It cost extra to arrange, but it is a far faster way to get to..." He paused, as if debating whether to reveal their site, but decided to allow it in a hushed tone" ...Port City.” Port City, the once great harbor, utterly ravaged by the Whispernight storm, and abandoned save for the groans of the drowned dead that still wandered its roads in their refusal to remain still. Once protected by a great shield against the ocean's wrath, the magestorm had shattered the city's defenses and cleansed it of the living in the same awful nightmare that had taken Celin City. Now it was only a half-drowned graveyard, full of mythical treasures on wrecked ships, guarded by liches, hags, and dragons. It was widely known, along with many of the Whispernight ruins, as a place to perish horribly while in search of lost treasure. Roht groaned violently, a crass sound of displeasure. He hadn't known their destination, none of them did. If he had, he might have reconsidered allowing himself, Avarice, or Sorano on the ship. “Lynch, you're an asshole.”
  8. Don't mind at all, winded theatrics are highly encouraged. Explosions, too. For now, though, stick to preparation posts, let people get their stuff sorted if they need to, and after I post about the ships entering port, we can commence with the boom EDIT: In addition, if anyone wants to do anything covertly, or make side bargains, good time to do so. @Die Shize, Avarice would like to meet with Tara separately before the Big Night(tm). Can haggle it in PMs if you like, or in the main post
  9. “You gotta really be GOOD to mess with HER; if you know what I mean. Right guys?” “I assure you, my dear, I come highly recommended from people with money and good taste. They assure me that my presence will be of benefit. And besides, I suspect my superiors would not be overly upset if I was destroyed in a flash of anti-matter either.” It was a joke, matched with a playful wink, but undercut with a bit of truth to it. He knew most of them would be glad to be rid of him if it came to that, but thus far he had proven too stubborn to end up dead. He kept moving his hands, a steady motion designed to calm her nerves and relax the muscles of her feet. “Your social health is just as important, and I wish I could say your school will be a good environment for that sort of thing. But as your lovely friend says, "normal" society is unkind. Remember that words are words, and were they able to do injury, my surgeries would be much simpler." Herrod smiled and nodded graciously at Rebecca as she left, and raised an eyebrow as Avus disappeared through the window itself. He glanced back at Abraxis and started to say something, but caught himself and closed his mouth instead. He pulled out a prescription pad, complete with his personal watermark and an ostentatious gilded border, and flipped one of the sheets over backwards. His hand passed over the paper, making quick flicks with a ballpoint pen to spell out letters, and turned the pad towards her. Herrod was more than willing to communicate in her medium of writing, and he wanted to make doubly sure no one was listening to them until he understood all the pieces in play. He spoke a little louder than usual as he adjusted the pad so she could read it. “It's important that you maintain healthy circulation, we'll work on daily walks to help with that.” The paper read: Do you know who is after your friends?
  10. "You're not going anywhere until you had a decent meal.” “Not going to argue with that.” He took a seat at the table, immediately tearing into the eggs with a grateful nod towards Isabella. He listened to them discuss the Plutonium Knights, and the apparent danger they presented, and he gestured with his fork when Ra asked him. “Disguising ourselves? I mean, it might give us enough time to get in and out, or they might just gut us on the spot for lying. I'm guessing they wouldn't be open to just allowing us in, because I don't have any bribe money on me.” “Lost your family to the Neverend.” He stopped chewing. That was a plot twist he hadn't expected, and it surprised him that Isabella would still be found anywhere near the sword if it had killed her loved ones. Tal made a note to re-evaluate his initial opinion of her, and he nodded to Ra as she stood to leave. “He seems corrupted.” “Corruption. Now we're using words I understand. The Neverend, I'm gathering that it's more than a sword, which means I got really misled back before I met Ra. And if knights are ending up corrupted, then it can't be something that's just laying around waiting to be found. So one way or another, this is going to turn into a fight.” Tal glanced over his shoulder, ensuring Ra was out of earshot. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, but he was still new to this endeavor, and she was evidently a veteran. There was probably a lot she took for granted that he really didn't understand at all. She was right, he was good in a fight, and was willing to go toe-to-toe with whoever was in that cave. But he preferred to know what he was up against, if only to soothe the panicking part of his brain. He moved closer, placing an arm around Isabella's shoulders in a gesture that, from a distance, might have looked comforting, or even affectionate. Tal rested his forehead against the crown of her head, and lowered his voice so no one else could hear. “I have to find this thing, I don't have a choice. But if there's anything I need to know before I do this, now is the time to tell me.”
  11. Post is up, and again I apologize for the delay. I'll give everyone a bit to do any between-now-and-then preparations or posts as they like, and just sound off in here once your character is ready. If you have nothing to plan out, just chime in here, and once we're all good we'll move to the night of the attack with the Iron Queen's arrival Pretty stoked at the crew we've assembled here
  12. “Unless we eliminate the crew above sea level or get them to surrender then we’ll have to go diving for our treasure. That means damaging only parts of the ship that won’t in turn damage our merchandise when she sinks.” “It means employing only the very best of professionals to handle a delicate situation.” Avarice raised his glass in a slow toast, acknowledging each of them in turn. “The cityfolk will make ample foot soldiers, but I called for operatives. And I have great expectations and trust in your capabilities to handle the fight as it develops.” He took note of the crew's reactions: Reinhardt's eagerness, Tara's analytical dismantling of the situation, Tana's cynical smile, and Gachi's abrupt glare. If they didn't tear him apart for this, every one of them may yet turn into a valuable ally. And if everything went to plan, he was going to need reliable people in the immediate future. Assuming they didn't all die, become imprisoned, or be forced into years of exile. Again. “The ship puts in at half past midnight.” He paused for each person to acknowledge the timeliness. “We'll allow them one hour to unload as much as they can before we strike. Until then, faith and firepower be with you.” * * * * Roht set the axe to the side as the erstwhile team members left, lowering his voice to its customary growl as the last of them departed the roof. “You think they'll survive?” “I certainly hope so. We could use some friends for a change.” “You said the F word. Bad Lynch.” Avarice ignored him, and nodded towards the door. “They're suspicious.” Roht laughed, and toyed with the wooden ship model between his claws. “If they weren't, then they'd be idiots, and you wouldn't be hiring them.” “Eloquent as ever. But you are right.” Lynch sighed, letting his shoulders fall from the manufactured posture of control and grace. He immediately looked more like a man, and less like an artist's rendering of a noble. He slugged back the remaining drink from his glass and set it on the table. A slow nod, then firmer, as he finished another set of mental simulations for the coming conflict. “They'll be alright. They can do it.” “Sure they can, but what about the off-chance it all goes to shit?” Roht flicked a keen look at him, then at the rooftop door. “You won't be there to call the shots, which I'm still pissed about by the way. Figure I can only pull one of them out under fire if those guns aren't quiet. Who's it going to be?” A silent moment. “Use your best judgment.” “No.” Roht snapped with an odd venom in his voice. “No, no, that's not how this works. You make the tough asshole decisions, I hit things.” He pointed a claw at Avarice. “Asshole.” His thumb jerked back at himself. “Thing-hitter. If you want me to be the asshole, you're going to have to take this axe down to the waterfront tomorrow and swing.” “You're right.” Avarice conceded, turning his eyes down to the map, scrutinizing it as if the answer was in his own hand-scrawled markings. These decision had once been reflexive for him: priorities, objectives, and lives added like numbers to a ledger. It never got any easier, but he stopped feeling badly about it years ago. “If it comes to it, get Karla out.” The gnoll rolled his yellow eyes back in his head. “Tell me it's not because she's got a tight-” “Because we need that logbook more than we need that ship sunk.” A chill underlaced his words, colder than the seaborne wind that swept the roof. Hopefully the plan would hold, but if it fell apart, there was always another, darker plan beneath it. That was his signature, and it never changed. Roht's muzzle split in a satisfied grin, and he nodded once, hefting his axe onto his shoulder. “That's more like it. Logbook it is.” * * * * Captain Alken Rand watched the sun pass overhead with a half-squinted eye, before a fluttering sail obscured it from view. This had been a long run, the ship was heavy with cargo, and it felt like the Iron Queen was trudging along at a snail's pace through the water. No matter how profitable, or how daring, their journey had been, it was this final leg that always set his teeth on edge. This was always their most vulnerable: loaded with freight, and making the slow turn north along the Genesaris coast. The sea breeze ruffled his clothes, and he smelled the salt and fury of the crashing coastline not far from them. A smile, unbidden, rose to his face, as if he could see the welcoming inlet of Silver Harbor before them even now. “Mister Threlfall!” “Ser.” The older man, captain's aide, was already there and waiting to be called, but the surprise of his constant presence had worn off years ago. Rand simply nodded to the red-tinged sails of the smaller ship ahead, guarding their passage with its array of heavy guns. “Signal the Red Venom to start the turn. Our fortunes await us.”
  13. If I owe you posts, be assured I have drafts ready for final check and posting to be released. Look for my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east.

    Or check the threads tomorrow evening for posts, they shall arrive.

    1. princeben07

      princeben07

      I knew that lol!!!

      Benny.

  14. Sorry for the holdup, gang, got a lot going on. Next piece is forthcoming
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