Jump to content

More Important is the Journey

Recommended Posts

Michelee tried to concentrate only on her breathing.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  It was the only way she could seem to get control of the beast inside.  Her eyes were closed, trying to block any other stimuli that could distract her while she was trying to get a hold of herself.  She could smell a wildness enter the air, one of another feline.  Under her gloved hand a pressure.... it was the fur of the tiger.  He seemed to be as gentle as a kitten, purring and rubbing his body against her leg.  She looked down at him, surprised that such a creature from the wild could be so tame.  If a tiger such as this could find control of his killer instincts, than surely she could.  She wasn't just dealing with a tiger though.  She was dealing with her inner were-tiger.  She wasn't just a wild creature of nature, but a dark magic was mixed in with it as well.  It was a curse passed on from one generation to another.  If her tiger was so easy to control, she wouldn't have need of the bag of herbs she'd given to Yonx.  

Thinking of Yonx reminded her that she'd left him alone to tend to the wounded crew.  She couldn't help Arzada at the moment, feeling she needed to get reinforcements before she tackled so many pirates on her own.  But she could help Yonx, and those other crew members.  The thought of helping someone was just what she needed to hold her bloodlust at bay.  She made her way back and was surprised to see Yonx sitting quietly.  Some of the crew members had gotten up and left somehow, but there were a few still there talking about Yonx's healing abilities.  Michelee was glad that he could do this, and wondered what part she really needed to play in this group.  Yonx could be the group healer if he wanted to.  She wondered why he hadn't said anything before now.  

"Yonx, I'm here," she said quietly, a gloved hand placed on his shoulder.  Just then, the ship made a sudden lurch downward.  It wasn't extreme, but definitely noticeable.  Michelee allowed her footing to adjust and looked up, wondering what had happened to the ship to cause it to decline.  Her sight was very good, but she couldn't see through objects.  She didn't see anything that could be causing the sudden change.  It could have been damage caused by the explosion from before, but she doubted the pirates would want the ship crippled so soon.  They would want to salvage treasures and ship parts before that happened.  She hoped this wasn't a sign of a violent crash landing, because she didn't think she'd be able to keep the inner feline at bay if that were the case.  

Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites
8 hours ago, Mickey Flash said:

"Yonx, I'm here," she said quietly, a gloved hand placed on his shoulder.  Just then, the ship made a sudden lurch downward.  It wasn't extreme, but definitely noticeable.

Yonx was relieved to feel michelee's return, means he must've made the right choice, she did return alive and well. However yonx could sense a disturbance within her and a little bit of...cat hair? 

"Achoo~" yonx rubbed his nose slightly "Michelee, a pleasure to have you back." he tapped michelee's hand with care as he slowly got up and cracked his neck thinking of 2 things in his head. The first was the safety of the rest of the gang he had tagged along with, for the most part Priscilla and Arzada came to his mind. Second was the state of the ship and the pirates having their way with this little raid they are doing. Internally Yonx felt like he didn't help everyone enough, he had his abilities and training as a samurai but he swore to use them for good on his journey, not to start killing people like in the wars and battlefields he was in. 

A sigh left his breathe, "Alright, with all that is going on here, we should search for Arzada and the others. Helping whoever we can along the way, and if these pirates get in the way...well michelee I'll need a favor from you, in the case that I have to pull out this blade against anyone's flesh, I would like you to heal them for me. At least enough to where they can't harm us back but survive it." he put a hand to michelee's shoulder, though he eyes were blind he gave her a look of kindness, trust, and gentle sincerity. A very brotherly vibe coming off of yonx, even so that he kinda felt like michelee was like a younger version of his own brother Ferris...aside from the fact that michelee was a girl of course. 

Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites

Jack climbed back down towards Priscilla, satisfied he’d done the necessary damage. Though their voices were funny he wasn’t content to enjoy it. The tilt on the ship was getting stronger.

“We need to get to the back of the ship,” he said, voice still squeaky, but not as bad as it had been higher in the ship’s balloon. He grabbed the dagger from her, pushing her forward gently but firmly. “Come on, move.”

They walked along as quick as they could traverse the gangway safely, grabbing for ropes and metal beams to support themselves. Very gradually, subtly, the floor tilted beneath them, until it felt like they were walking up a slight ramp.

“It’s working,” he said. “Hurry. Come on.” He put his hand to her back, encouraging Priscilla forward.


Once again he forced his bear to stand. Agony rippled outward from his shoulder, his flank. It felt like he was drowning. Fluid on the lungs. But he made it walk out into a corridor – thankfully abandoned – and waddle towards the back of the ship.

The tiger was another matter. He had no idea where it was on the ship with Michelee and Yonx, but he’d be damned if he took any chances. With an urgent rawr! he headbutted Michelee, firmly, towards the back of the ship, then turned about and grabbed Yonx by his sleeve and tugged him in the same direction. Come on, follow the dumb animal, he thought, watching through the bird’s eyes as the spire projecting from the front of the airship pointed ever so gradually towards the ground, like the condemning figure of a god.

Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites

Priscilla kept herself occupied by moving down the catwalk at a slower pace, inspecting the edges of the balloon each time she paused to take a jab at it. It was easy enough to cut through it, but it seemed almost futile from within; it was a big balloon, for sure, and there had to be a lot of air in it. Would they really make a huge difference all that fast? She pondered this question as she took another shot at the balloon at an awkward angle. The knife slid across the balloon's surface instead of plunging through it, and Priscilla cringed as a stinging pain jerked up her wrist briefly. She didn't cry out, thankfully, and her hand retreated quite quickly before she could drop the dagger. As she nursed her wrist, the blade cradled against her body as she rubbed her arm ruefully, she only scarcely heard Jack descend behind her. She turned to face him, and he too the dagger from her before urging her forward, further down the catwalk. She complied, still rubbing her wrist but getting over it as they moved along.

"Will that be enough?" She squeaked at him as the floor pitched beneath them ever so slightly. She could feel it in her legs; they were definitely walking upwards now, but she had no idea by how much. If she had to guess, it was probably a 15 degree increase in slope, just enough to make each step a little trickier. She didn't really have a frame of reference for how long it took for the ship to begin to tilt like this; how long would it take for the Gehenna to pitch forward? 

Behind her, Jack pushed her forward in response to her question, and she complied, following him to the far end of the catwalk. While they walked, it became noticably more evident that the floor was tilting, and exactly once near the end of the walkway Priscilla's foot slipped out from under her. She recovered easily, gripping the rails for support, but it was enough to make her glance backwards, to look at the rough downhill tumble that would have awaited her. She shivvered, and it became evident for a moment just how vulnerable she was. Although she wasn't with the rest of them, Priscilla was just as much a civilian as anyone else on the airship. She wouldn't stand a chance if this plan of Jack's went south. Still ahead of him, she quickly mounted the ladder down and away from the balloon, and scrambled down. 

She dropped to the floor with a soft thump, and glanced about, uneasy. They'd been on the far end of the ship at first, and now they were near the rear. This was actually quite close to where they'd boarded the Gehenna back in Summit. This also meant they were closer to the pirates now; she could hear gunfire hear and there, but a lot of it seemed more distant now that they were attempting to seize the helm of the ship.

Michelee and Yonx were definitely in that direction, Priscilla recalled.

Were they okay? 

Back behind the door Ronin had been shoved into, a simple-looking shipmate made his way over to Ronin at last and hunched down next to him, and quickly began the messy process of dealing with the swordsman's wounds. He was in a similar state; having abandoned his crew jacket somewhere long ago. Whether it'd been ripped to pieces to act as bandages was unclear, but not unlikely given that he'd evidently tied a scrap of something around his head in order to staunch bleeding from somewhere. It was wrapped tightly around his forehead, but strapped around his chin. From where Ronin was, he could plainly see that whatever had struck this man in the head, it'd gone deep, and it'd destroyed something incredibly vital. His left eye was cloudy, with sanguine fluids swirling around within, unable to coagulate, unable to settle. It was a wonder the man was able to continue working with one eye completely destroyed, and yet he grimly went about his duty, feeling first then applying his aid wherever possible.

Just behind them were other men of a similar sort. Only wearing undershirts, some of them using their jackets to prop up the heads of the injured, others draped over the faces and necks of the deceased. It was somewhat surreal, seeing a first response camp of sorts erected just beyond the place where a firefight had recently occured. The room smelled of sweat and blood and urine, and in spite of the dark nature of the scene there was constant noise of a calm and orderly nature. Instructions on where to keep pressure, trying to find out where it hurts, last rites being given here and there. Around them, those who weren't uninjured were loading magazines and cleaning those same black rifles.

One of the more notable characters that Ronin could identify when 'Goose' had stepped back had to be the well-dressed, mostly unruffled man keeping watch. In his hands rested a well-worn rifle of an unidentifiable nature. It was sleek and appeared to be primarily made of some matte black material, but unlike the other rifles in the company's hands it was small and compact. The stock had been removed and replaced with a lighter stock, made of shiny chrome. A slim, long, aluminum canister fixed to the bottom of the weapon announced its function more so than anything else in the room. It raised more and more questions about the crew's history; why did they have military grade weapons on a commercial cruise? Was it a part of the crew's history, or were they, perhaps, a more modern relic, of untold activity? Regardless, the man with the flame rifle was undoubtedly the First Mate, and his clean, well-pressed uniform suggest that he, if nobody else, was running the show for the time being.

"Oh good, so you aren't dead yet." He didn't sound too concerned about Ronin's survival.

Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites


Oswald had reined the prisoners in at last. Every time a shudder of fear ran them through, he would push the butt of his gun into the pile of corpses with a long, drawn-out squish and they’d freeze back into docility. He bared his teeth at them convincingly. They cowered even further into the shells of their shackles. As long as they were wearing chains, there was the implicit promise that he would not shoot them. Beckley kept his shaking rifle fixed on their heads just in case, but the safety was flicked on. Their duty was done here.

Thompson loomed out of the darkness suddenly, counting the rounds in his revolver and humming tunelessly.

“Sir.” Oswald saluted him, the sudden motion sending waves of fear through the crowd. “Lifeboats are ready.”

“Good, good. Bear’s dead, too, or dead to rights. Don’t matter to me either way, but I got it good in the chest. Should’ve hit a few organs, I say, and it won’t be roaring none at us any more,” he said. “Ain’t that something? Helluva gun.”

In a single, snapping motion, he took aim at the pile and fired. The now-familiar crack rang out through the hall, and a head and the tip of an elbow splattered into a thin red mist. Beckley yelped and turned his head even further in the opposite direction.

“Man up some, kid. You’ve got to learn how to deal with these things. Hell, docs can’t live without seeing blood every couple of seconds.” Thompson holstered his gun and looked over the quivering captives. “Eenie, meenie, mine and mine. We’ve got a nice haul here.” He narrowed his eyes. “Except…I don’t see a certain rich little miss here. Where’s the vampire?”

Oswald said nothing and clutched his rifle closer to his chest.

“Where’s the vampire, Oswald?”

“I…” He hesitated. “There was a brush-in with the bear a little while back, towards the stern. And…”

“And that’s great, it really is. Would you like to tell me where’s the fucking vampire?”

“The body was lost in the confusion. I think —”

Thompson held up a hand. “Thank god that you think, Oswald, I was worried that you couldn’t. Because you took so fucking long comprehending the question, see, I started thinking otherwise. But I’m glad, I really am, that we are both on the same sentient page here. I’m feeling generous, hell, let me call it sapience.”

Oswald flicked the safety up and down and over again, eyes drifting towards his feet.

“Hey,” Thompson said. He stretched out a hand and grabbed Oswald’s chin. “Look a man in the eyes when he’s speaking. Especially when you’re beneath him.”

“Yes,” Oswald mumbled between the smaller man’s fingers. “Sir.”

“Good. So you were saying, if I am thinking correctly, that that most fearless and noble of the vampires is lying somewhere halfway across the ship? Towards the rear end?

Oswald nodded.

“Well that wasn’t very hard at all.” Thompson released him. “Beckley. You two clean up the rest of the prisoners, put them on the lifeboats and shove off soon as you get cleared. The saboteurs have likely wrapped up their bombs by now so — you know how the saying goes. Chop-chop, however those Terrans like saying it.”

“And what if you don’t come back in time?”

“Say that again, Beckley. Or don’t. Repeating bad jokes makes them stale. I don’t like funny guys, either.” Thompson shoved a fistful of bullets into his pocket and wandered off again, humming without rhyme or meter. Beckley and Oswald were rigid, unmoving in their salute, until the double doors slammed closed.


It was the work of minutes to find the body. Shadows did not stretch six feet, not inside a cruise ship, and there was no crate which would conceal all of her porcelain skin from the glint of the firelight.

Thompson appraised the body for the whole of a few seconds: the nightgown had been torn to shreds by the action of the night and, upon casual inspection, by the bloody jaws of a bear. He nudged what little remained covering her body away with the steel tip of his boot. At this point it was nothing more than litter, best left behind in places nobody needed to think about. He grabbed her arm and threw her body over his shoulder. It craned at the hips over his shoulders, and her head fell to dangle in the crook his waist. He took a moment to appreciate the vulgarity. Dead men tell no tales, nor do they have preferences or rights or indignations; that was the only pity to it.

He put his free hand on the back of her head, dug into the grisly, jagged hole with his fingers. The gristle, bloody and black, had begun to clump like cold stew, and the bone was beginning to extrude brittle feelers out towards one another as if reaching out for a friend in the abyss of damage. He swirled his hand around in the mess, loosening it up some, breaking the slim needles of bone, scraping out chunks of flesh and clots of blood and other viscera into the ground. The longer she wasn’t awake, the better, and the slick sensation was almost therapeutic. It was like sinking one’s hands into the fresh, warm summer mud of a riverbank. Beneath, little sticks and pine needles, the shells of snails, little bits of harder, squishier dirt. After undoing everything that the body had built up over the course of an hour, he went on.

Soon he became aware of an acute pitch of the floor, sloping downwards so that he was beginning to climb uphill, however slightly. He cursed the road, the weight, and perhaps most urgently, his growing doubt that he’d picked the correct direction to head. But by now the die was cast — especially when voices began to approach through the ruined hallway. Two figures led by — another damn animal.

Thompson froze, then lifted his hand away from his revolver. Shooting bears was easy. Dumb animals had no concept of tactics. They weren’t much more than moving target practice. Thinking, feeling beings were different; thinking, feeling beings with swords dangling at their sides were doubly so. Two of them, at once, with him half a cylinder and one arm straining under a corpse over his back?

No, it was better to lie his way out. It was not a hard thing to do, not when the air’s full of the thunder of bullets and nobody knows where they’re coming from, not even the ones shooting, nobody knows much at all except that they need to live and maybe help the ones around them live. Thompson hoist Arzada into a more merciful position, wiped away the sweat on his forehead leaving smears of blood all over his face, and hoarsed up his voice like they did in those old films. “Who’s there? Y’all pirates? I’ve got a gun, I ain’t afraid to shoot.”

“I…found this lady lying around. She might be dead, I — I don’t know. I need a doc, look at her. Know where I can get ahold o’ one of those?”


Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites

Cookie, indeed a mysterious individual. He only met him a few times but is lucky enough that his might is bigger than his body. He thanked the man who patched up his wounds, hoping that the man's injuries are not long term. The first mate, someone who he barely knew came up to him. He stood up after hearing the man's words and said: "The captain is dead, you're the next in command".  He then observed something peculiar, a glass of water which was still full had a tilt to it diagonally, like if it was held on an uneven platform. He couldn't feel it but he can definitely see it; the ship was going down. "But not for long, I'm going to the balloon deck to see if any damage is done, maybe we can still land this thing" He responded. He got up and sprinted to the deck above, killing any pirates he saw. His eyes were nearly covered in blood, he could barely see with all the dirt and blood going down his face but the adrenaline kept him going. The sword helped him to see, putting a green outline on anything that's alive.

Going closer to the balloon deck, he can hear the sound of gas leaking from something. Someone has been tampering with the bags and he's pretty sure it's not the pirates. He saw three living beings, two humans, and one orc, the latter being about 10 meters in front of him trying to get into a room. He dashed and tackled the orc, approximately 1.5 bigger and heavier than him, and stabbed him in the stomach for good measure. Once they were both on the ground, he pulled out his blade and plunged it into its heart, putting a quick and merciful death towards the pirate. He sheathed his blade, the blood dripping out of the specially made sheath, his walk slow and menacing, a warning perhaps for whatever unfortunate soul lies in the room ahead. He entered the balloon deck, his silhouette the only thing visible to the pair. "Whoever you are, I promise your death shall be quick and painless," He said as he unsheathed his sword, his blade glowing green with the stance Ronin taking clearly implying he is there to kill. His eyes blinded by blood means he has no clue who they were, for all he knows they could be pirates. All he could see was their green outlines in a room outlined in red. He waits in an offensive stance, perhaps waiting for them to attack or waiting for an explanation. Maybe he was waiting for their pleas for mercy, either way, he waits for something

@Jotnotes @Cheezeegriff

Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites
On 3/12/2018 at 6:54 AM, JaviD'Arcana said:

 "Alright, with all that is going on here, we should search for Arzada and the others. Helping whoever we can along the way, and if these pirates get in the way...well michelee I'll need a favor from you, in the case that I have to pull out this blade against anyone's flesh, I would like you to heal them for me. At least enough to where they can't harm us back but survive it." he put a hand to michelee's shoulder, though he eyes were blind he gave her a look of kindness, trust, and gentle sincerity.

She didn't want to disappoint Yonx, because he seemed like he had the heart of a shining knight, but she couldn't do what he asked.  "Yonx... I can't.  When I touch someone I heal all their wounds.  I'm not able to control it.  And when I heal them, I take on their pain, and their injuries for a short while.  If I take on someone with a mortal wound, I could die."  This was a weakness that she didn't tell many, and the reason that the gloves and concealing clothing were so important.  She felt compelled to help the crew, people she'd gotten to know and like over the voyage.  She risked being close to them where they could have reached up and touched her face, giving her their injuries, because of the need to help those she'd come to care for.  But the pirates.... she wouldn't take that risk with them.  If Yonx stabbed them then they would have to suffer and die.  She would not put herself in harm's way by healing them, or risk being unable to help others because she was incapacitated from healing a pirate.  She didn't mean to be cruel, but when it came to survival she choose to heal those that weren't trying to hurt or kill her.  "I have to save my healing for those in our group that need it, and for those with lesser wounds.  I'm sorry."  She knew what this meant for him.  If she couldn't heal those he injured, then he would be responsible for possibly taking a life.  She knew that something like that can weigh on a person.  It has definitely weighed on her.

Michelee had forgotten about the tiger.  She knew that most creatures would be staring raptly at the fierce beast, afraid for their lives.  She was from the were-tiger tribe, so she was used to being around tigers.  Usually she did so in her own were-tiger form, because strangely enough one were-tiger will not kill another were-tiger.  They usually calmed each other down, but it wasn't quite the same with a regular tiger.  Seeing the beast did bring back memories from home, and she felt a tug at her heart.  She didn't know that she missed her people so much, that the sight of a tiger could bring on a feeling of nostalgia.   Now the tiger reminded her that he was here.  He butted her toward one direction of the ship.  He then turned and tugged Yonx.  It wasn't so strange to Michelee that the animal had a purpose and plan for them.  He'd already been there for her once.  She knew he was a friend of Jack's so she allowed this to occur, wondering why he felt the need to push them along to another side of the ship.   She noticed they were going uphill, and that the ship was travelling downward.  Something had changed, and the ship was going down.  

8 hours ago, Mag said:

Thompson hoist Arzada into a more merciful position, wiped away the sweat on his forehead leaving smears of blood all over his face, and hoarsed up his voice like they did in those old films. “Who’s there? Y’all pirates? I’ve got a gun, I ain’t afraid to shoot.”

“I…found this lady lying around. She might be dead, I — I don’t know. I need a doc, look at her. Know where I can get ahold o’ one of those?”

Michelee slowly turned. As she looked into the face of the male she'd seen outside of Arzada's door not too long ago, the impact of his words hit her mind.  The last she'd seen of him he'd been walking among other pirates, unharmed and accepted.  She was pretty sure he was the same man, though if she didn't know any better she would've taken his words at face value.  Her tiger senses picked up on the scent of Arzada's vampire blood on his forehead and hand, but there were other scents too.  Many different spatters of blood upon his person.  It could have been from being attacked.... or it could have more likely been from attacking others.  She didn't remember seeing him on the ship during their stay there, but there could have been many people she didn't remember seeing.  All she did remember seeing, was his face as he walked from Arzada's room.  It was a face full of anger and greed.  It was a pirate's face.  Now it looked to be a normal crew member's face, which was confusing to her.  She wondered what was going on, and didn't want to assume anything.  

"I don't remember you from this ship," she started cautiously.  Then she pointed to the hole in Arzada's head.  Most creatures couldn't come back from a wound like that.  For all Michelee knew, neither could Arzada.  But she did know that there was no way that this male would be aware of Arzada being a vampire.  "Why are you caring a dead woman?  Can't you see she has a big hole in her head?  No one can heal that."  Michelee backed away from the male, and moved closer to the debris that was gathered close by.  If she had to, she would shove Yonx there and do what she could to fight off the pirate.  If he wasn't a pirate, he'd have to do a lot of explaining to convince her.  

Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites


Thompson was hoping for a wide berth. Why should he not receive what is given so freely in wartime? Approached by a stranger carrying the nude, ravaged body of a woman, the ordinarily fearful bystander ought to avert their eyes and mumble a quick I’m-sorry as they backpedal, looking for an escape. He was hoping that the two terrified creatures wouldn’t want to give the time of day to someone carrying a cold, clammy reminder of violence.

Just his luck to stumble upon the nosy and involved.

“I don’t remember you from this ship,” one called out coldly.

“Wha—?” He dropped his jaw in surprise. “Yeah, lady, and I don’t remember seeing you ‘round neither, and not half the five hundred people ridin’ the good old Gehenna across Genesaris.” Thompson sneered at her, dropping to his knees beneath the body’s weight. “Who are you, the ticketmaster? Does it matter? I need to find the ship doctor, are you going to —”

“Why are you carrying a dead woman?”

“Why are you so resistant on helping a man out? Slinging filthy words like, oh, she must be dead, oh, what are you doing wastin’ your time, oh, what the bloody hell does it cost you to point me in a god damn direction?” His voice rose to a holler he felt suitable, just loud enough to fill the halls with the sense of urgency that they ought to have felt, not loud enough to attract further attention. These people were beginning to grate on his nerves, and the weight of his revolver felt itchier every moment. But he kept his hands where they were, one on his knee and the other gripping Arzada’s waist.

He took a deep breath. “…Sorry. See, that’s what I thought too but I saw her move a bit when I found her, twitched her hand, and — hell,” he said. “I don’t know, there’s a thousand of you inhumans riding this ship. I saw a snake woman once, got decapitated and survived it. Scary as shit. Regrew her head and neck and all. So excuse me, but I ain’t gonna trust my guts on this one. For all I know, she’s got a fake head and her real one’s somewhere in her belly.” He burned a glare into the duo. “Which is why she needs to see the ship doctor.

Every word was deliberate, and full of a mounting frustration which twisted his features. He could imagine the tick of the incendiary explosives echoing through the narrow, empty corridors. Their imaginary flames churned at the roots of his nerves. Oswald and Beckley would not wait forever, no matter how much they feared and respected him.

Time was bleeding away, and not for Arzada.

“So. Could ya get out of my way, or point me in the direction, stead of letting a girl bleed out on the ground?”


Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites

Twenty degrees. Twenty five. Of course they were estimates, but the slope was getting steeper to climb, plus, through his owl eyes, Jackk could see the silhouette of the ship against the mountainous horizon, as the Gehenna gradually tilted downwards.

“This’ll probably do,” he said to Priscilla. “Need to find somewhere safe to hunker down. Somewhere not far from the outside of the ship. We’ll need to get out quickly.”

Just then his bird was buffeted by a strong gust of wind, and he felt the ship shift beneath his human and cat feet. Nothing dramatic for his other forms, but the owl took a beating. He flew it closer to the Gehenna, landing on the rim of an open porthole by the cargo bay.

Inside was dark, though he could see a few lanterns held by the pirates that had taken up residence among the stacks of crates and goods covered with tarpaulins. The pirates were screaming, shouting. Several of them were straining against the ropes attached to a massive wooden box. The animals, further down in the gloom, were still in their cages, all piled up against the bars on the lowest ends of their enclosures.

Then one of the crates shifted, coming to rest against another.

The shouting and panic intensified. Those pirates not holding the ropes ran from the door to the stairwell down to the life rafts, which were already spinning up their propellers in preparation for a quick get-away. One of them dropped away quickly, propellers not quite up to speed and without a full compliment. The rest were quickly filled with pirates.

Then he heard a snapping sound, and looked back inside the cargo hold as a large crate broke from its rope moorings and slid into another, which slid into another. With a great splintering and cracking and tumbling the crates fell into the animal cage, crushing it, sending a mass of tangled limbs and hooves and horns and timber falling forwards as the entire cargo manifest fell towards the lowest ground.

And with all the weight to the front of the ship, it pitched forward like a drunkard.

Jack grabbed onto Priscilla with one hand and a lamp with the other as the floor became a wall, and the corridor they stood in turned into a deep well.

His bear rolled over sideways until it lay against a wall and was buried by broken furniture. The tiger gripped at carpet with his claws, watching as tables and chairs and bodies all fell to one end of the room in a great heap.

The owl repositioned itself around the rim of the porthole, watching as the horizon span almost ninety degrees, and the mountains below drew steadily closer. Gradually the wind became a roar.

“We’re goin’ down,” Jack said through gritted teeth, holding Priscilla by the arm until she had a handle on something that would stop her falling.

Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites
On 3/17/2018 at 12:12 PM, The Blex said:

"The captain is dead, you're the next in command". 

"Yes, I'm quite aware how these things work." The former First Mate, now the Captain of the Gehenna snapped at him quite coldly. He shifted his weapon to his hip, and glanced towards the open doorway. Cookie and the rest of the able-bodied crew were already moving on, no doubt, which meant that, perhaps for the very last time, the burden of responsibility for the crew--and any civilians on this end of the ship--fell upon him, and the mercenary they'd dragged through the door. It was a pity, then, that the Captain had chosen so poorly; the idiot was trying to fight his way through gun-wielding pirates in tight, long corridors. He was fortunate that the Gehenna's cook, Cookie, had actually managed to save him in time. Now that he was here and mostly taken care of, however, perhaps the fate of the Gehenna could be changed, however slightly.

"We've already put together an effort to push towards where they've boarded," The Captain began to explain to him, in his calm, level tones. Ronin didn't appear to be having any of that, however, and cut him off before he could get another word in edge-wise. Not long afterward had the swordsman gotten back on his feet and ran off as if the devil himself was after him.

On 3/17/2018 at 12:12 PM, The Blex said:

"But not for long, I'm going to the balloon deck to see if any damage is done, maybe we can still land this thing" He responded.

"You're forgetting who is in charge here, boy." The Captain shouted down the hall as the man disappeared, before breaking into a low string of curses. Damn it all. The Captain had either a soft spot for the swordsman, or a serious issue with judgement, as the Second in Command couldn't see what the old man had seen in the swordsman at all. He dressed like an idiot; he acted like an idiot, even. What was he doing, trying to play hero while wearing strips of wood and running around.

"He's going to get himself killed, Goose." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off a headache as the cloudy-eyed medic started to head towards the door. "Just keep your head down and help who you can. We'll rely on our own lads to sort this out, then."

The Captain glanced towards the men on the floor again. There were still the thoughtful, soft mutterings of the wounded and the dying, of course, but there was an ever-growing still. An uneasiness, a tension in the air. Was he right about the balloons, then? Were the pirates planning on grounding the ship as well? He couldn't leave his position for now; the crew of the Gehenna needed him. In a fit of unease, the Captain once again checked his rifle; checked the safety, the barrel and pilot light, and the valve on the canister jutting from the bottom. He was as ready as he'd ever be; like the man before him, he'd go down with this ship if he had to.

But hopefully not, of course.

Elsewhere, Erret was having an absolutely horrid time finding his way around. Fleeing from certain danger, he'd managed to scramble along the top floor, dashing through the halls towards safety, panting heavily, footfalls mercifully light for an Orc of his size. His fists had swung by his sides with each stride, but now they were lower and lower, and even now that he'd gotten to the top of the ladder he'd ran to, up into the rafters closest to the balloon, he was almost certain he was home free. 

The Orc stopped to take a deep breath. Several deep breaths, before cursing himself for breathing so hard. This wouldn't have been so trying if he'd--

He didn't even have time to finish that though, as not long afterward he heard voices ahead. Two of them, a man and...he couldn't tell, their voices were very squeaky. Were they some kind of nonhuman, or was something else going on? He took another heavy breath, and tried to stand up straight. The Orc took a step, and then another, nice and careful. His hands were at his sides, and slowly rose above his hips as he moved, slowly bringing them above his head. From the sounds of things, they didn't seem to be aggressive, but they did seem nervous. He should have had no trouble showing them he was unarmed and looking for help. He took a step, and then another, before something caught him from behind and bowled him down. The strike was enough to force him off his feet, and down onto his stomach. The Orc didn't even have time to gasp in shock before something sharp pierced his back. It went deep, through his fat and muscle, through something he was certain shouldn't have been pierced. It pulled out again, and the Orc finally managed to utter a low gasp of surprise when the sword came back through and pierced something else. The gasp died on his lips, and he remained still.


On 3/17/2018 at 12:12 PM, The Blex said:

"Whoever you are, I promise your death shall be quick and painless," He said as he unsheathed his sword, his blade glowing green with the stance Ronin taking clearly implying he is there to kill.

"I fockin' knew it!" The first crew member gasped in horror, as the voice clicked in his head. He took a half step back, stumbling on the uneven deck. His partner clung to him and kept him upright, and when they both recovered they took another step back.

"This fockin' guy does 'ave a screw loose!" He repeated, reaching for his weapon. With trembling hands, he managed to draw his gun, visibly shaking as his partner tried to raise his rifle.

Ronin was not that well-liked among his fellows on the Gehenna. Whether it was simply how quiet he was, or how little respect he showed the other crew members, he'd always stood out quite a bit. He was quiet, and he always seemed to stare with intensity into nothingness. He was foreboding, and with his peculiar sword and armor there'd always been rumors. Rumors that he wielded some kind of evil weapon, and that he was haunted by the things he'd done. Other rumors claimed that he was a murderer on the run, and the captain had taken pity on him, like he had so much of the rest of the crew. They hadn't gotten along though, and nobody quite knew why.

Right here, though, it was evident something was wrong. The man behind him didn't even look to be armed; from where he was standing, he almost definitely would have taken a shot at the two of them, right? The one with the rifle kept it trained at him, while the other reached for his flashlight.

"A'w'right, you jes'...jes' fockin' stay there, Ronin'." He stammered out, slowly turning on his torch. His hands shook as he illuminated first the swordsman, drenched in blood and still adopting that merciless stance, then his sword...and then the Orc behind them, dressed in casual clothes, bleeding all over the floor behind them.

"Fockin' 'ell." He murmured again, horrified. "You...you fockin' bellend!" His voice rose to a shout, and an accusation erupted from him as he pointed his gun at Ronin once more.

"You're with 'em, you bastard! You fockin' pirate. Shifty-lookin' wankstain o' a villain!" There was no more time for any other insults, as both of them opened fire on Ronin. Fire blossomed from the rifle and pistol respectively, and bullets whizzed past Ronin. Their aim was awful, scared as they were, but they were in close quarters, with semi-automatic weapons. They'd hit him eventually, and he would die. There wasn't anywhere else to go.


Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites
On 3/18/2018 at 12:03 AM, Mag said:

“So. Could ya get out of my way, or point me in the direction, stead of letting a girl bleed out on the ground?”

Yonx felt uneasy and didn't like the fact that the ship seemed to be going more and more downward ever so slightly. As to the man in front of him with a bloodied Arzada on his shoulders, yonx just didn't have time to judge whether or not he was telling the truth. What was important was that he would protect Michelee and Arzada.

"I'll find a way to get her to better health, if you are not a pirate then hand her over to me and find some safety." Yonx said inching towards the man, one hand out stretched for the man to give arzada to him and the other hand was where the hilt of his sword met the edge of its sheathe. Should this man try anything Yonx would be able to react, espeically since yonx can sense the electrical impulses inside this man's body, with his own speed and magic Yonx could hit the man's pressure points to stun him. 

A side note in Yonx's mind was Arzada's pulses, well if one could call it that, surely there was truth in what the man said. Arzada made ever so slight movements to the tips of her fingers and other parts of her body that yonx could sense and "see".

"Just be easy friend, I mean no harm til harm comes to my friends." Yonx said trying to give reassurance to the man and walking towards him a little more. 

Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites

With Jack leading the two of them, Priscilla was led through the ship's corridors as the world around them continued to grow more and more scant. The floor beneath them, while once serviceable, was growing steeper and steeper with every passing minute. She could feel it in her feet, how the joints bent with each step, as if she were beginning to climb a steady incline. Just ahead of her, Jack was still forging along, trying to get her to safety.

16 hours ago, Cheezeegriff said:

“This’ll probably do,” he said to Priscilla. “Need to find somewhere safe to hunker down. Somewhere not far from the outside of the ship. We’ll need to get out quickly.”

"We're too far from our rooms." She pointed out. Casting a glance down the hall, she could see that the rooms lining the sides of it were either open, closed or smashed in. They'd probably be able to climb into one of the open ones if need be, although she had to wonder if the pirates were still close by. Were they all on the floor above them, trying to finish herding the civilians off the ship? She took another step and another. Just up ahead, a housekeeping cart rolled towards them lazily, dragged downward by the pitching gravity. It didn't get very far before catching on a body in the hallway, and falling on top of it. It reminded Priscilla about just how intense their situation really was; there were maybe four or five human bodies laying around just like that. The air was thick and heavy with the smell of blood and sweat, and she took a moment to wipe her forehead, suddenly exhausted.

"Maybe we can take shelter in that one?" She nodded towards the nearest open cabin. The door seemed to be opened willingly at first, but a closer look revealed that the lock had been broken when somebody'd forcibly kicked it in. The growing sense of dread gnawed at her stomach as they made it towards the door. Beneath them, the deck rumbled, shuddering from strong turbulence, before unexpectedly the entire ship pitched backwards with a groan of metal. Prisiclla experienced weightlessness as her world shifted out from under her, and for several terrifying milliseconds she was trapped in a free fall. Behind, or beneath, rather, the hallway turned into a drop, the floor pitching with such a horrifying speed that she didn't even have a chance to recall that this was not the natural state of the world. Priscilla's heart leapt up into her throat, and she tried to cough out a wheeze of terror.

Then, just like that her fall was over as someone grabbed her hand again, and she glanced up to see Jack clinging for dear life. Bodies and luggage tumbled past them, towards the ever steeper pitfall the corridor had become, and Priscilla had to fight off the urge to vomit, or pass out. Instead, she struggled to look for options, and glanced towards the door closest to them. She couldn't read the door number for several seconds, and squinted at it. Her hands were growing sweaty and clammy from the dizzying fall that awaited her. She took another look at it, and another. Why couldn't she understand what room this was!?

Then, with another shudder, the world jolted her into wakefulness and she tilted her head to one side, the ride side.

Oh. That was her room.

Without much pause, she looked from Jack, to her room, and back.

"The door is unlocked." She called up to him. Her voice was high again; high-pitched from the sheer fucking trauma of the death that awaited them.

"Swing me to it."

She swallowed her nerves and tried again.

"Swing me to it already!"


Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites

The metal stem of the lamp bent in Jack’s hand. It pulled away from the wall, sending flakes of paint peeling away and tumbling down into darkness. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll swing you.” He swung her once, but not far enough. Twice, and she reached for the door handle with her free hand but missed. Third time she grabbed it, held onto it for dear life, pulled at it but she was pulling from the wrong direction.

“Hurry,” he said.

Priscilla pulled and tugged, finally getting the door open. She had to kick it aside – the door opened inwards. Jack swung her one more time and she disappeared into the sideways doorframe.

That was better. His arm stung less, and he carefully untangled his fingers from the lamp’s fixture. It wasn’t the first time in his life he wished he wasn’t wearing any armour, but those times were outweighed by the time he WAS glad he was wearing it.

With his toes on the doorframe of Priscilla’s room, he reached down and drew his dagger, stabbing it into the light wooden wall and using it as a handle to climb down, then stab again. Once he lowered his legs onto the doorframe, arms drew around him and pulled him in.

He almost fell on top of her, but stumbled over an upturned chair instead. Around them the ship creaked and groaned, and outside the porthole of Priscilla’s room, the hazy, moonlit mountains were spinning from right to left.

The ship was spiralling downward.

“Here, get on this,” he said to Priscilla, before bending over and ripping her mattress out from under her upturned bed. Once she was inside he bent it over her, effectively cocooning her inside. Her legs poked out one end, but at least her body would be safe.

Jack moved to the porthole and opened it, instantly slapped by a gust of frigid, higher-than-mountain air. It was a big one and he could crawl through it if he wanted, even with the armour on, though doing so right now would be a death wish. He peeked out but the cold wind stung his eyes. He couldn’t see.

But from the owl’s eyes he could.

The mountains were drawing closer. Icy daggers reaching for them like the teeth of an incoming kraken. They were huge peaks though, with glaciers in between and large clouds clinging to their summits. It would take a few minutes for them to hit the ground.

Something clicked over the owl’s head, and sand began raining down. Someone was at the ballast controls and was lightening the ship’s load.

“It’s working,” Jack said to Priscilla, closing the hatch again. “We’re dropping steadily. Feel your ears pop? Looks like we’ll be walking away from this ship after all.”


Meanwhile his tiger form hopped down from where it clung to the carpet, down to where Michelee, Yonx, the pirate and the vampire’s body had fallen onto the jumbled contents of the room. They didn’t seem to be hurt. Well – any more hurt. He began tugging at Michelee’s sleeve again, trying to rouse her into action. As far as he could tell they were still too far forward to be safe when the ship crashed.

Share this post

Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.