The Last Voyage of the Riana Red, Part 1 of 3 (Closed)

[Alric Wilmot]

“Yes, Mr. Wilmot, I remember you,” he said. “I'm Daske. I hope the voyage has not turned out to be too terribly dull for you.” Alric smiled and gave a response, oblivious to the man's more subtle clues of discomfort. "Oh no, it has been quite entertaining actually. I have enjoyed a number of wonderful conversations. And I still marvel at the stillness of everything. It's amazing to me really, how few things seem to move." “Are you from Alvadas going to visit Syliras?" said the man, "Or are you from Syliras returning from a visit to Alvadas?” Alric rose an eyebrow, then remembered that he hadn't been very clear in his manner of speaking. "Oh, I'm from Alvadas. That's what I meant by being marveled at things being so still. In the city, things are constantly swapping with each other, or disappearing behind your back. It just, amazes me me when I climb up the stairs, and always emerge above deck. It's really something! "To be honest, I didn't really care where this ship was headed. I just... needed to leave the city for a while you know? Have a taste of adventure for a little while. Learn some new things..." Alric scratched his chin then, and smirked, looking at Daske's sword. "I was wondering, if it did not subtract from your duties, and you did not mind, if you would have a little spar with me? I bought a sword back home but know absolutely nothing about it. I know very little about swords, actually. So really, it would be for my benefit more than anything. I realize it was a private lesson, but, well, I couldn't help but overhear. I was hoping I might expound on it? "Of course, if you'd rather not, I'll just go ask one of my fellow passengers. I imagine they might know a thing or two..." Alric trailed off again, trying to be polite, but at the same time, hoping his language made it seem as though the man had no choice. He knew, in his head, that provoking a taller much more physically fit man into sparing with you was a bad idea. However, Alric also felt that the man had more to offer. And in his mind, this justified what might end in blowing up in his face.

[Ciryn]

Later in the day, Ciryn was granted much needed respire from laboring under the sun. She retired under the deck and pondered what to do with the precious bit of time. A nap was so tempting, but she doubted that she would wake up within the hour and she knew no good could come of oversleeping. She thought of the men practicing swordplay above. It had been a while since she had anyone to practice with, but right now she was worn out enough that she could handle social interaction or physical practice, but not both. Ciryn fingered the dagger at her belt. She drew it and assumed a beginning stance. Most of the practice was footwork, especially without a partner. She shuffled across the wood floor quickly, dancing back and forth, avoiding the imagined swings and thrusts of a would be opponent. Ciryn gripped the dagger firmly, mindfully keeping her arm straight and bending her wrist as need be. Ciryn did not have a cutlass, but she was keen to add to her repertoire. She fumbled through the three guard stances she had overheard, somewhat unsure of whether she had completed them correctly. She hoped to see them practicing again so she could check her footwork. Practicing it wrong would do no good. She heard footsteps on the stairs. The first mate, Katie Colmy emerges, looking fairly displeased. “An hour break. Time’s up, I want you back and sweating within the minute,” she said before disappearing back up the stairs. Ciryn grimaced, but ran up the stairs.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

“Would you have a little spar with me?” Daske frowned as he realized that Alric had successfully backed him into a verbal corner. The last thing in the world I want to do right now is have a little spar with you, he thought. “Of course, Mr. Wilmot,” he said. “I'd be glad to share what little knowledge I have gained with the cutlass. But be forewarned that I am a rank amateur myself.” He walked Alric through the basic fighting stance that he had learned from Jules and showed him how to advance and retreat without exposing himself to attack. They practiced these moves together for a few minutes. Then they practiced the three defensive stances, playfully parrying each others awkward thrusts and slashes. An hour went by quickly and at the end Daske realized that he had actually enjoyed the little exercise. “Mr Wilmot,” he said. “That was a fine sparring match. Perhaps we can do it again sometime. Like maybe after we've learned how to slash and thrust.” He smirked. “But this is all I can spare today.” He bowed slightly and excused himself to go below deck. * * * * * Day three, thought Daske as he finished up his breakfast the next morning and headed topside. Wonder what they'll have me doin' today? He did not have to wait long to find out. Almost as soon as he stepped on deck, Captain Kranz waved at him to come up on the poop deck. “Son, you're kinda natural at this sailin' stuff. Must be that Svefra blood.” Daske must have looked startled because he continued. “Wharf told me all about ya. You might as well know you wouldn't be on this ship if'n anyone but him had recommended you. But he and I go way back. If he figures you're okay, then you're okay in my book too.” Daske relaxed. So far nobody had made anything of the fact that he was Svefra. Either they hadn't figured it out or they didn't care. But he knew Svefra didn't have a very good reputation with the merchant fleets. “Son, I'm gonna team ya with Harold Gunnar today. He's gonna teach ya a bit about wind an' how we harness it with sails.” Daske already knew who Harold was. In fact, he already knew who pretty much everyone was on his shift. They ate together, slept together, relaxed together. How could they not know each other? Throughout the day as they handled the sails, Harold explained to Daske exactly what they were doing and, more importantly, why. “Best speed is when the wind's comin' from the stern. When the wind changes direction - say it's coming from a little starboard of stern – we can still make good speed, but not quite as good. As the wind continues to move starboard of stern, the sails are catchin' it less and less good cuz so much of it is spillin' off the sails instead of pushing 'em. When the wind shifts so's it's comin' directly off the starboard side, then the sails ain't getting' much of the wind at all cuz it's mostly just blowin' right on through and out the other side. “Now we can compensate some by changin' the angle of the sails.” Daske had already noticed that the sails could be trimmed some by turning the yards, although they couldn't be turned very far. “That way we can keep gettin's some good outta the wind even if'n it's blowin' right across the starboard side. In fact we can even sail a bit into the wind, but not very far.” Daske interrupted. “I was wonderin' about that, Harold. If the wind keeps blowing from the West like it is now, how will the Riana Red make the return trip?” Harold paused to stuff some tobacco in his pipe and light it up. “Ya got the right question there.” He inhaled some tobacco smoke, held it in his lungs for a few moments and then slowly exhaled out his mouth, forming a perfect ring of smoke that drifted away and slowly dissipated. Harold continued. “In principle, a square-rigger like the Red can't sail against the wind. But if we sail at an angle to the wind and winch them yards as far as they'll go, we can still get some wind that'll move us in the direction we wanna go. Sorta.” He took another lung full of smoke and blew it out his nose. “It's called tackin'. We ends up makin' long, sweeping arcs back and forth, gainin' a little on our intended course each time.” Daske said, “That sounds like it'd be pretty slow going.” The old man laughed. “Yessir. Slow goin' indeed. But it'll get ya there eventually.” They were standing on the foredeck looking out over the bow of the ship. The swells they had experienced yesterday had turned into breaking waves, sometimes throwing spray on to the deck. Daske was thinking. “So every time the wind changes a little, the first mate orders us to adjust the course and the sail trim to take best advantage of it.” “Right you are, boy. Right you are. And there ain't many as can read the wind and the waves like she can.” * * * * * That evening, Daske found Jules again. This time Alric was there watching, following along with the exercises. Jules noticed that and waved him closer. “Feel free to follow along," he said. “First Guard!” Ordered Jules. Daske immediately assumed the stance. “Second Guard!” Again, Daske immediately moved into the stance. “Third Guard!” Daske snapped into the stance without hesitation. “Excellent, my good Daske. You are a quick study.” They were again on the main deck and Jules was running Daske through the lessons he had learned the previous two evenings. “Now we move to offense, which I suspect is what you have been waiting for.” Daske said nothing. Jules assumed First Guard stance about three feet in front of Daske. Daske did the same. He found it a bit intimidating that Jules was standing so close to him. “In a real fight, your opponent will close to within striking distance and will try to stay at that distance as long as he is on the attack. You have to resist the urge to back away. Instead, you want to force your opponent to back away. So use the three Guard stances to defend yourself and only retreat as a last measure. “For First Cut, step out one short pace with your right foot, keeping the left foot firm, body upright and left knee straightened. At the same time, cut diagonally downwards from right to left. This is best accomplished from First Guard stance.” He demonstrate the move and then watched Daske practice it a few times, offering minor suggestions and stance corrections. “For Second Cut, do the same thing except you cut diagonally downwards from left to right.” He demonstrated the move and then watched Daske practice it a few times. “For Point, step out with your right foot as in Cut One and extend your sword as quickly as possible into the breast of your opponent. Resist the urge to draw your arm back a bit before delivering the Point, because this will warn your opponent of your intention." He demonstrated the move several times and then watched Daske practice it a few times. “And one more move: the Parry. From any of the three Guard stances, you can parry any of your opponent's attacks with an upwards or downwards cut. And one final admonition: After executing a cut or a point, move immediately back into one of the three Guard stances.” Daske was dog tired when he made his way downstairs for dinner. Ciryn was sitting at the table eating. He plopped himself down across from her and dug into his food. “So,” he said with his mouth full of some pretty good tasting stew. “Third day at sea. How's it goin' for you?” oocUnless someone objects, I'm going to take us to Syliras in my next post and bring the thread to an end. There's a lot happening as we go into Spring and I want everyone to get their XP for this thread as soon as possible. Let me know if that's not okay with you.

[Alric Wilmot]

"Of course, Mr. Wilmot,” he said. “I'd be glad to share what little knowledge I have gained with the cutlass. But be forewarned that I am a rank amateur myself.” And indeed he was. Alric, however, was far far worse. Alric had only yesterday;s lesson to go on, and he had only been an observer. His footing was atrocious, he gripped his sword too loosely, and he focused far too much on Daske's blade. At times he was unintentionally attacking it instead of his opponent. Luckilly, despite being an amateur, Daske had common sense. he worked through the three defenses that had been taught the day prior, and helped Alric to execute them as well. It took near to two hours before Alric was even capable of remembering the moves. Afterward, retreating and parrying came. All in all, Alric became stiff and sore, but pleased at the same time. Daske could have turned him away. But he did not. Alric doubted he could face a true swordsman any time soon, but he had taken the first small steps. “Mr Wilmot,” he said. “That was a fine sparring match. Perhaps we can do it again sometime. Like maybe after we've learned how to slash and thrust.” He smirked. “But this is all I can spare today.” He bowed slightly and excused himself to go below deck. Alric, panting slightly, bid him farewell and gazed out at the starry night sky. He stayed above deck until he became chilled by his own sweat. The ship still seemed so foreign to him. Everything did. Alvadas, the only home he ever knew was seemingly half a sea away. It was humbling, to realize how much of the world he had never seen. He shivered as the winds began to get rougher. Finally, after about three hours after his spar with the scarred man, he retired. ____________________________________________________________________ Alric awoke with the stranger in the odd hat, the tall skinny one. He did not know exactly what time it was, but he would guess it was closer to midday than sunrise. The man who seemed like a fighter was already out of bed, which tipped him off. His fellow passenger went to eat in... wherever it was they were supposed to eat in. Alric honestly didn't know. He had been eating from his own rations since the start of the journey. As he ate some dried meat, his breakfast, he thought briefly about what he wanted to do today. It was rather difficult to decide. At last, however, he decided to see if he could further his knowledge of blades. He thought it might prove more useful than sailing. So that would be his focus for the remainder of the trip. He knew, vaguely, that the sword he bought was different from the swords the sailors were using. But, really, they shouldn't be too different in how you fought with one. Could they? Alric found Daske about to engage in his latest lesson, a spark of luck. He was sweaty from the work he had been doing prior, but he still looked ready to learn regardless. The man who was teaching Daske spotted him this time, and gave an invitation. “Feel free to follow along," he said. And so he did. First Guard!” Ordered the man. Alric had no idea what that looked like, so he imitated Daske. Daske immediately assumed the stance. “Second Guard!” Again, Daske immediately moved into the stance, and again, Alric copied him. “Third Guard!” Daske snapped into the stance without hesitation, obviously focused on what he was doing. Alric however, was not, and it took him two tries before he was able to copy Daske well enough. Alric decided to observe and listen from now on. He knew it was better to go through the motions, but he felt like he was unnecessarily embarrassing himself in front of the crew, who looked at him with barely concealed mirth. “Now we move to offense, which I suspect is what you have been waiting for.” said the man. Jules assumed what Alric thought was the First Guard stance about three feet in front of Daske. Daske did the same. Alric followed along, and much like yesterday, only copied them when he thought no one else was looking. It was a poor way to learn, but he was learning. Already he could see the guard stances in his head. He was also able to memorize the attacks. Although, that might be more because of their simplicity. When they were done, Daske retired below deck. Alric decide to stay, and observe the sea. It was strange, really. He had never been to sea before, but the constantly changing waves seemed more reminiscent of home than the ship. He was actually yearning to return to Alvadas. He nearly laughed at himself. He had wanted to go adventure so badly, and already he was longing for home. As he stood on deck, wind shuffling his hair, he decided he'd follow the rest of Daske's lessons until they were back. He might not learn much else, but it would at least keep him busy. In the mean while, he would seek out the fighter again. He could use a good conversation.

[Trident]

Knuckles tightened on a rain spattered wood railing. Green eyes, burning with a fire that matched the redness of the hair that cascaded around it, locked on the ship in the distance with an almost feverish intensity. The salty wind blew into his face, bringing to him untold information about his target. The smells of a merchant ship at sea, men and women blissfully unprepared for what was coming. It didn't take a pirate to tell the Riana Red was prime for the picking; but one still had. Braten's mountainborn face smiled suddenly, and then turned suddenly in time with his lean and muscled body. A gaze turned away from his well worn eagle prow to survey his very own craft, a cromster. "Gentlemen," the Inartan said as he stepped forward, the crewmen turning to watch him with an almost intimidated respect. Now, they waited for his judgment silently. "I have made my choice, and we will indeed attack. Prepare for battle." A wild and unexpected yowl filled the air, and the rest of the brigands broke into grins, and suddenly the deck was filled by movement. Swords were gathered, ballistas were prepared; each and every man knew exactly what to do. They were old hands at the pirating game, after all. On the Suvan Sea, one learned fast or got stuck though by a Svefran harpoon. The redhaired pirate lord turned back around to face the target. The sea was just right, calm enough so as the Serrated Surrender could cut through it with ease. As a result of the frenzied activity aboard the cromster, their ship would now be pulling up with the merchant ship, ominously silent. Braten knew exactly what the men and women aboard the other ship would be feeling right about now. First would come confusion. What was this ship doing, coming so close? But, oh so soon the terrible truth would be revealed. "Sir...we are ready." A twitch of the lips was all that answered the crossbowman. The veteran, who had served with Braten many years, picked up on what the former Dek had not said, and swiftly now went running back to his fellow archers. Braten waited. He waited for the oarsmen to do their job, do draw close enough to their opposite ship. He waited for the shuffling behind him to stop, for the men to fully accept what happened; they were going to war. And, more than anything, he was waiting for the first sign of alarm. Someone aboard the merchant ship shouted out, their words blurred by the distance but understandable nonetheless. Braten's smile grew. "Shoot!" A second later, the first of the arrows landed on the Riana's deck. OoCHey guys! Sorry for my lateness in posting. In case you didn't know, Daske here asked me to step in and help finish off this thread properly. Have fun!

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

“Pirates! All hands on deck! All hands on deck!” It was the second mate. He was on the lower deck making his way from one end of the ship to the other shouting the order. The ship's bell was sounding wildly from topside. Pirates! Daske thought. He had never experienced a pirate attack first hand but he knew that the ship and all aboard were in mortal danger. They might take the passengers captive for ransom, but the crew would not be so lucky. He grabbed his cutlass, strapped it to his waist and rushed topside. He reached the top of the ladder behind a man everyone knew as “Bogs.” Bogs stopped and then tumbled backward taking Daske and several men behind him back down the ladder to the deck below. Daske got to his feet. Bogs didn't. Bogs had two arrows deeply embedded in his chest. Daske knelt and put his hand on the big man's chest to feel for his heartbeat. There was nothing. Bogs was dead. Amid the noise of men and women shouting and boots thundering across the deck above him, Daske could hear the distinctive sound of the Riana Red's ballistas firing their heavy bolts. He turned away from Bogs' body and started up the ladder again, a grim look on his face. OOC : Given the title of the story, my expectation is that the Riana Red will be lost, leaving Alric and me with the problem of how we each survive the attack. I have a plan for Daske's escape. I don't know about Alric .

[Alric Wilmot]

Alric broke off his conversation with the retired fighter as he heard the alarm. Pirates! All hands on deck! All hands on deck!” He and the fighter looked at each other, before both decided to go help repel the pirates. Alric knew he had little experience in these things, but he figured that with the whole crew, and his magic, he should come out if it just fine. Besides, he wanted to see if he could learn anything about battle. An old man's war stories were a poor excuse for the real thing. As he charged up the deck, he was greeted by the Riana Red's crew in an orderly mess. Everyone was running to different places, manning different weapons. Another opened a cabinet that Alric had failed to notice before, and handed out clubs and swords. The special swords called cutlasses, he believed. He quickly got one for himself, with no one bothering to snicker. It seemed they were content with every swordsman they could get. Suddenly, a flurry of arrows covered the deck. Alric jumped at the unexpected thuds, of both men and arrows. He had been very lucky, most of the arrows had landed on the starboard side. He had been on the port side. Shocked at the quickness of their deaths, Alric looked toward the enemy ship, trying to see when the next volley was coming. oocsorry about the wait. I actually forgot about this. Thanks for the reminder Daske.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Daske pulled himself out on to the main deck. More arrows were falling, but not where he was standing. The pirates were targeting the ballista crews. There was only one man left at the aft port side ballista. Daske made the short run and did what he could to help the man reload the giant crossbow. The pirate ship was firing its ballistas now. Daske watched in dismay as two heavy bolts simultaneously hit the mizzen mast and broke the upper half off. Daske dropped to the ground as the rigging came down on top of them. He jumped back up to help with the ballista again but then saw that the other man was dead. A piece of the yard arm was protruding from the side of his skull. Blood and brain matter were oozing out. Daske vomited. He couldn't remember ever having been so scared in his whole life. I'm gonna die here, was all he could think as he watched the pirate ship closing on it prey. Then he realized that he had wet himself.

[Trident]

Braten watched in grim satisfaction as his arrows and ballistas tore the merchant ship to shreds. The mizzenmast breaking off even elicited a grin from the grizzled pirate. This was going to be their easy looting yet. “Prepare to board!” he shouted. --- After a moment, the arrows stopped, and those not already dead or pierced through on the Riana's deck were given a brief reprieve. The only sound was that of jingling swords and the crash of the waves against both the Riana Red's and the Serrated Surrender's hulls. Some of them wondered – no, hoped- if the pirates had decided not to attack after. But others, the more experienced ones, knew that not the case. “Get up, you!” A voice bellowed in Daske's ears. Turning around would provide him with a view of Katie Colmy, the first mate. Her eyes were filled with something approaching madness, but the arms that shoved Daske up from the ruined crossbow were steady enough. The woman stopped, suddenly, unexpectedly. Strands of braided brown hair waved in the salty ocean wind as she turned to examine her back. Whatever she saw drove the tan from her face, leaving her deathly pale. “Save yourself,” she breathed, and then collapsed. The wet blade of a hatchet shone out from the depths of her coat. Behind her, a man was swift approaching. He was not a member of the crew, or at least not one that Daske knew. And the hatchet in his hand, so similar to the one that now rested in Katie's lower back, only proved his malice. Over by Alric, a sudden roar gave way to heads being turned. The newly armed crew members now saw ropes attached to the pirate ship's masts being swung, men hanging on them. At various intervals they let go, and while some of them fell into the ocean between the two ships, many landed on the Riana Red's deck. Even as men flew through the air the Serrated Surrender drew ever closer, planks ready to be laid down once they drew close enough. The men around Alric leaped into battle, but they were severely outnumbered. Cutlasses pierced flesh and arrows sprouted from exposed skin, and it became clear in an instant, this was not a fight the Riana Red was going to win.

[Alric Wilmot]

Alric gasped at the sudden turn of events. He had never seen anything like it. Though he had heard of tales in Alvadas. This was a pirate crew! He had heard tales of their barbarism. However, he supposed he had never realized how brutal it could be in person. Several men of the crew were about Alric fighting off the attackers. The fights only seemed to last a few seconds, much shorter than any of the practice duels he'd seen. It was apparent that the crew were losing too. Alric, steeled himself, and looked about the deck. Seeing if he could help in some way. Almost like a sign form above, one of the crewman were able to slay a pirate near to him. The pirate still clenched a sword in his hand as he lay on the deck. Alric dashed after it, but was blocked by two more pirates. They both stopped their attack when they saw Alric's clothes. Apparently, they were only after the crew. At that Alric had a wonderful idea. He sent a current of djed into the pirates. If they wanted to kill the crew, the Alric just needed to alter who they considered the crew. This was a perfect time to test one of his newer techniques. Hallucination. He focused his influence into his eyes, and made contact first with the one on his left, and then with the one on his right. Both surly characters refused to blink. At that moment, he switched the two's recognition's of the Reana Red's crew, and their own. Then, to send them on their way, Alric layed face down on the deck in a signal of surrender. Both seemed satisfied at Alric's display, until they caught sight of one another. The one on the left was the faster of the two, and sliced open his partner's belly. Alric looked away, a little put off by the gore. The lone pirate seemed to have forgotten him, he went on to kill more of his own crew. Alric grabbed the blade of the pirate that was too slow, and went to help the crew of the Reana Red take back their ship.