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<blockquote data-quote="Emperor Valerian" data-source="post: 2490523" data-attributes="member: 15043"><p><strong>Captain, My Captain</strong></p><p></p><p>A few moments of chit-chat passed by, before the Baron rather lavishly waved to the butler.</p><p></p><p>“Go and fetch... Cecil, hmmkay?” the Baron said, his brandy sloshing about in his goblet.</p><p></p><p>“Of course M’lord,” the butler said in a slightly annoyed tone of voice, before turning about and leaving the hall at a quick, precise clip.</p><p></p><p>For his part, Visiel wanted to sigh. <em>It appears that my commander has consumed too much drink. I sincerely hope he does not plan to lead us into the field this way.</em> Visiel couldn’t get drunk himself, but he’d seen many human comrades engage in the activity. <em>I will never understand why most peoples... humans, orcs, elves even, all like to drink controlled amounts of poisons. They lose speech abilities, logical functions...</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>...a horrible state to be in during training, let alone on the battlefield.</em> With a metallic huff, Visiel gave a slight shrug to himself as the butler reappeared, holding the door open for someone else. <em>At least my commander’s second in command is in control of himself, as are my comrades.</em></p><p></p><p>When the butler bowed at the unknown figure, Visiel immediately realized that the newcomer was a higher rank, which meant only two things. Either the newcomer was the Baron’s second in command, or the Baron’s superior. <em>Yet the Baron asked the dark officer to go fetch this person... hence this person responds to the Baron, and therefore must be his second in command.</em> Immediately within the hierarchy being constructed in Visiel’s brain, the butler’s position shifted downward.</p><p></p><p>The newcomer also sported a large, luxuriant wig, as well as a pencil mustache and a very thin, very fine beard on his chin. He was clad in bright red and yellow silk, another sign in Visiel’s mind that he was high ranking. Finally, he carried himself with his back upright, his steps proper and precise... and Visiel frowned.</p><p></p><p><em>He has not seen combat.</em></p><p></p><p>Visiel had seen this many times before. Young, brand new officers came into his command with their backs straight, their clothes perfect, their minds arrogant. Soon, the training that was war broke their pride, made their wigs vanish, and made their smooth hands grow calluses.</p><p></p><p>“May I introdushe...” the Baron slurred as he struggled to gesture to the newcomer without stumbling, “Lord Celia Daod... son of ta Earl of Bladcore!”</p><p></p><p>“Lord Cecil Daod, son of the Earl of Edgewood,” Visiel heard the butler correct the Baron, “He commands your second ship, the pinnace <em>Black Joke.</em>” At the Baron’s look of confusion, the butler quietly prompted further. “The ship where these fine people will be assigned?”</p><p></p><p>“Ah, yesh, of courz!” the Baron laughed and slurred again, clapping the butler on the back.</p><p></p><p>Visiel’s mind dealt with two major thoughts from these words. In one, Visiel’s opinion of his commander decreased even more. <em>He lets himself be this way in front of his juniors, and his juniors must correct him.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Ah well. He is a commander, a commander that will pay me metallic pieces.</em></p><p></p><p>The second thought was related to the ship. <em>Black Joke. What is its displacement? How many crew? How many guns? What is her fastest speed? What point of sail does she reach that speed?</em> Endless questions in his mind that he wanted to have answered. He knew better than to ask them all at once however. Humans tended to get annoyed at questions.</p><p></p><p>The young noble immediately extended his hand to the young cleric called Siran, and then stopped and paused before Viktalia.</p><p></p><p>“Well hello,” the young man crooned, bowing to kiss Viktalia’s hand. While she thanked him for the gesture, Visiel noticed the young man’s eyes were staring at a spot that was quite a bit below her face.</p><p></p><p><em>He is young. He looks for a mate,</em> Visiel waved aside the young man’s attention to his comrade. <em>If he is a second in command, he must look to his unit first. Looking for a mate can be done off-duty.</em></p><p></p><p>“My name is Viktalia?” the Formorteran said awkwardly almost a minute later, as the young man kept staring. Her voice made the young man snap his head upward, his face bright red.</p><p></p><p>“Cecil Doad,” he said quickly, his eyes drifting back down.</p><p></p><p><em>He is distressing her.</em> Visiel noticed, as Viktalia uncomfortably looked at the openly gawking Cecil. <em>It is never good when a comrade is distressed. They lose focus, something that is dangerous on the battlefield.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>I should introduce myself.</em></p><p></p><p>“Sir,” Visiel said in a deep metallic voice, the room shaking slightly as his brought his metal frame to perfect attention. “Visiel, at your service, sir. I am skilled in salvage work, rifle shot, and with a warhammer. I am at your service, sir.” Visiel’s heart leapt slightly, as he heard those words echo off of the metallic walls. Those words meant he was part of a command. Part of something he knew, he understood, a place he knew he would be useful.</p><p></p><p>Visiel wasn’t surprised at the young man’s look of fear, then confusion at seeing his immense form. Humans were unnecessarily scared of him. That was part of being a warforged. <em>I hope the second in command puts me to good use.</em></p><p></p><p>“Um... Lord Dice?” Cecil asked rather plaintively.</p><p></p><p>“Your salvager chief, sir,” the butler replied quietly. At Cecil’s blank look, the butler added, “the person that will be looking for sunken items after you sink enemy vessels.”</p><p></p><p><em>This does not bode well. The officer in black had to remind the second in command of my position.</em> Visiel allowed himself another metallic sigh. <em>I hope he won’t forget any more.</em></p><p></p><p>“Ah...um... yes, well um, hello,” the young noble gingerly extended a hand, one that Visiel carefully took and gently shook. Once again, experience had taught him humans did not appreciate firm, strong handshakes from him. </p><p>“Welcome to...um... my crew. I...um... with your Lord’s permission,” Cecil gave a nod to the Baron, who tried to nod in return but instead stumbled forward almost into Viktalia, “will...um... take these people to my ship.”</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“Ah! Look over there!” his clipped voice rang out yet again an hour or so later as his finger stabbed towards the forest of masts and spars that marked the city harbor. “Our ship is over there, amongst the tall poles, though,” he added thoughtfully, “our ship’s pole is smaller than the others... probably because we’re smaller than the other ships.”</p><p></p><p><em>Masts... they’re called masts!</em> Viktalia wanted to complain as Cecil continued to yammer on, yet through some amazing piece of patience, she managed to keep her mouth shut... somehow. An hour with their young captain had revealed three truths to her: first, that whenever he got the chance, he oggled her chest, second, Lord Cecil Daod knew <em>nothing</em> of sailing, and third, he didn’t know when to stop talking.</p><p></p><p>After a few minutes of getting used to Visiel, he’d blabbered on about his life. The firstborn son of the Earl of Edgewood, Cecil was set on having a military career. He bragged that he’d graduated first in his class from the Imperial Naval Academy, a fact Viktalia guessed was a patent lie meant to impress her. He’d also claimed that important missions had kept him from behind assigned a ship until now.</p><p></p><p><em>Chances are your father twisted the Baron’s arm into letting you join... or your father and the Baron are good friends, or some other form of chummery,</em> she thought. <em>There is no way a school for warship commanders would let someone as incompetent as you through!</em></p><p></p><p> A sideways glance towards Visiel revealed that the metallic behemoth, now some kind of noncommissioned officer, had kept an impassive face, save for a very slight grin that she didn’t fully understand. A glance in the other direction revealed Siran was the opposite... his prospective captain’s mistakes were plainly grating him, and by his winces and grunts, Viktalia guessed it would be only a matter of time before, commission or not, he’d snap at the young nobleman.</p><p></p><p>“Is there anyone babysitting you?” the cleric growled after a moment, before Viktalia could plant an elbow into his ribs.</p><p></p><p>“Hm?” the young nobleman stopped, and twirled one of his immaculate mustachios.</p><p></p><p>“My friend asked if you have any other officers under your command, sir,” Viktalia said, forcing her sweetest smile to the front. As she expected, Cecil began to stare slightly, and the potential crisis in command, if insulting the Captain could be called such, had been easily averted.</p><p></p><p>“Um...” Cecil muttered for a moment, before realizing that Viktalia knew he was staring. “Yes! Yes, of course! Why, there’s Lieutenant Kaled, of course, my first mate, and then there’s Midshipman Felgar, the ship’s guide...”</p><p></p><p><em>Navigator,</em> Viktalia thought to herself, fighting not to wince again.</p><p></p><p>“Kaled’s been very helpful. He was a ordinary sailor for the longest time, before he finally became an officer,” Cecil said, before turning around and resuming his march. “Too bad he’ll never make it above Lieutenant probably... too old, too cantankerous too,” he added, a slight tinge of resentment in his voice. </p><p></p><p><em>Probably more competent than you, I imagine... hence the sour look,</em> Viktalia growled in her mind. <em>Set you straight a few times, hopefully.</em></p><p></p><p>“What are the dimensions and crew capacities of the vessel?” Visiel finally asked.</p><p></p><p>“Um... its a rather small ship, though I suppose its only my first command. Maybe 20 or 30 crew... maybe 40...” Cecil’s voice trailed off into thought.</p><p></p><p>“Might be best to ask the ship’s real master,” Viktalia heard Siran hiss.</p><p></p><p>“Ask Lt. Kaled once we get on board. He deals with all the unimportant numbers stuff,” Cecil said simultaneously, waving his hand about in disdain. As the forest of masts crew closer, Cecil suddenly stopped, his brow furrowed in hard thought.</p><p></p><p><em>Oh great... did his mommy forget to change his diaper?</em> Viktalia wanted to grumble.</p><p></p><p>“Now... which way was it to the ship?” Cecil said quietly, before adding a light curse. “Damnation, they should just hang huge signs on them so it’ll be easier to find. Bah!”</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><em>One Hour Later...</em></p><p></p><p>“Is it me, or is the captain an idiot?” Siran hissed viciously as soon as Cecil had vanished. Normally, he would’ve taken up anyone’s offer to go to a brothel, but the cleric was far, far too annoyed, and couldn’t wait till Cecil emerged from the captain’s cabin, and left the boat. <em>Damn incompetent... I could even make a better captain than him!</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Maybe we should just sail out of port without him, save us some hassle...</em></p><p></p><p>It had taken them another half hour to find the ship, after which Cecil had introduced them all to the ship’s crew. From the start, it was obvious the crew did not like their commander, and that their commander was oblivious to their disdain. Visiel had immediately busied himself helping to load the ship, but with his immense strength, the job took only a few minutes. He’d wandered off somewhere, Siran wasn’t sure where exactly.</p><p></p><p><em>Maybe he followed Viktalia’s suggestion to help load the Baron’s ship...</em></p><p></p><p>In front of the cleric, his conversation partner laughed. The man was short and stoutly shaped, his body heavy, but with muscle. A ragged, grizzly beard came from his chin, tattoos festooned his arms, and an eyepatch covered his left eye, where a ragged scar slashed across his face. Despite his rather fearsome look, in the half hour since they had begun talking, it was apparent that Lieutenant Kaled loved to laugh, despite the sparseness of his teeth. </p><p></p><p>What had also become immediately apparent was that Lieutenant Podris Kaled commanded the respect of the entire crew. When Cecil had boarded the ship, the crew hand’t come to attention until Kaled barked the order. It was Kaled supervising the loading of supplies, it was Kaled making sure the decks were cleared and being prepared for sail. It was Kaled who told them the state of the ship, showed them their bunks, and introduced them to the crew.</p><p></p><p><em>If he ever got it into his mind to kick Cecil overboard...</em> Siran had realized immediately.</p><p></p><p>“By Tesseron’s Golden Harp, that’s true!” Kaled slapped Siran on the back, as several nearby sailors guffawed. “He’s a good thing to have... or, as I should say, his purse is!”</p><p></p><p>“Money can’t buy seamanship,” Siran countered, causing another round of laughs.</p><p></p><p>“True that is, young one. But for now,” Kaled said simply, “we must live with his presence, at least until the great Baron finds something else to do with this lively young prodigy of a commander!”</p><p></p><p>“Bah,” Siran said simply, before looking around again. Underneath his feet, the crimson deck rocked slightly in the meager waves inside Erelion’s great harbor. Even though he stood in the middle of the ship, by her mainmast, he could only walk around 25 feet in each direction before he would meet the bow and stern respectively. Above, pennants lazily flew from the ship’s two small masts, and to each side sat four cannons, their squat iron forms securely stowed for now. The sight of them made Siran smile.</p><p></p><p><em>Viktalia thought those cannons were so huge,</em> he laughed, remembering his friend’s expression at seeing the 9 pounders. Between chuckles, Siran had to explain to her that these were some of the smallest cannon mounted on ships. Demi-culverins, they called them. When he mentioned that some of the big warships have cannons that fire balls five times that weight, he thought her eyes would pop out of her head.</p><p></p><p>“He seems eager... at least,” Viktalia said sadly, as she came up from below deck. Fortunately, she didn’t know what Siran was grinning about. His grin faded when he saw the look on her face, a look that seemed to resemble the face of someone who’d just been told their favorite puppy had been killed.</p><p></p><p>“What’s so bad that it makes you look like St. Siabrey just told you you’re going to die?” he asked rather immoderately. The followers of St. Heraclius had little time for other saints aside from their own.</p><p></p><p>“There’s no fruit below!” Viktalia almost plaintively whined. As if on cue, she thumped her head against the deck in theatrical anguish. “None! No apples, no pears, no oranges, not even <em>dried</em> fruit! They have nothing to eat below except some rancid beef, some grain for bread, and cheap ale!”</p><p></p><p><em>What was that?</em></p><p></p><p>“Cheap ale?” Siran asked, his mood changing to very concerned. “How cheap?” he asked, his eyebrow raising.</p><p></p><p>“Its like drinking water from a latrine!” Viktalia complained, raising her head. “Except its like someone also dumped some dead rats into the vat, to make it extra smelly!” She laid her head down on the deck again. “More importantly, I need fruit! I’m Formorteran!”</p><p></p><p>“You <em>need</em> fruit?” Siran asked, before suddenly shaking his head. “Forget the damn fruit! We’ve got an ale crisis here!”</p><p></p><p>“Aye... that’s one thing he won’t open his purse for,” Kaled said, his own voice grumpy. “He paid for this ship to be repainted... crimsons decks, no less! Paid for all the repairs I recommended... new spars, a new bowsprit, even rechristened this boat <em>Black Joke</em>. The joke’s on us though... he refuses to pay for any good drink, or food!” Kaled spat onto the deck. “That’s despite us telling him that fruit keeps scurvy away!”</p><p></p><p><em>Oh no... not on board this boat!</em> Siran groaned. <em>I had to put up with piss poor ale for months on land, and I’m not about to do that while I’m stuck on this raft at sea!</em></p><p></p><p>“Hell no!” Siran grunted. <em>Mutinies start over things like this!</em> “He is the son of the Earl of Blackpool, he has all this money, yet he <em>refuses</em> to buy decent food and drink?” </p><p></p><p>Siran put special emphasis on the word ‘drink.’</p><p></p><p>Kaled nodded, and Siran gave another curse, this one complaining about the nobility and various body parts from St. Valerian and St. Elagas. He morosely scuffed his foot back and forth on the deck, until he noticed something... </p><p></p><p>...actually someone.</p><p></p><p>Viktalia was still partially out of the ship’s hold, her own head on the deck in distress over the lack of fruit. At the angle, Siran had a perfect view of certain parts of her anatomy... and immediately, his mind jumped back to Cecil’s huge eyes some hours ago when he’d first met the Formorteran dancer. Two and two came together... well, more like one and one...</p><p></p><p><em>And a brilliant idea is born!</em> Siran thought, his glower changing to a smile.</p><p></p><p>“My my, your face changed a bit there,” Kaled said, after a moment, the shorter man coming up right alongside Siran. His eyebrow raised, looking at Siran, before following the cleric’s gaze, and almost immediately, he gave a grunt. “Huh. That might work.”</p><p></p><p>“What?” Viktalia said quietly, looking up from her own pouting.</p><p></p><p>“I think we just found our twin saviors,” Siran grinned, before telling Viktalia the plan.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“That was easy,” Viktalia laughed about an hour later, crossing her arms as the sailors of the <em>Black Joke</em> loaded box after box of dried fruit, and barrel after barrel of fine Formorteran brandy. Five tons worth of dried fruit, as well as two tons of brandy.</p><p></p><p>“That’d better be a hell of a performance,” Kaled said in awe. “I’ve never seen him open his purse so quickly on a request.”</p><p></p><p>“You’d better ‘raise his morale,’” Siran chuckled as Viktalia turned to him with narrowed, blazing eyes.</p><p></p><p>“Shutup.” <em>Why can’t he get the idea in his head that I don’t strip, or do whatever debauched things his foul mind thinks of?!</em> Her scowled darkened momentarily, before she decided Siran’s dark idiocy wasn’t worth her time.</p><p></p><p>She then turned to Kaled, her expression changing to one of smiling triumph. “Well, it will be a good performance, but,” she said, her smile growing larger, “I just neglected to inform him that I have a policy of no private dances. So yes, he’ll see a dance... it’s just he’ll have to watch with the other twenty crew members.”</p><p></p><p>“So then you’re going to raise <em>all</em> their...” Siran started.</p><p></p><p>Viktalia hissed, and only gave the cleric a scowl, to which Siran merely laughed.</p><p></p><p>“Well, I’m sure you’ll be a great help in keeping the crew occupied during their free time,” Kaled said, giving only a grin towards Siran’s joke. “Heaven’s know, some of these sailors, if they have nothing to do, see, or talk about, they get quite bored...”</p><p></p><p>“An idle hand sows trouble,” Viktalia smiled, quoting another human saint, St. Valerian the Ruler. “As the ship’s quartermaster, I’ll do my best,” she gave a flourishing bow, before turning to Siran and giving him a scowl far more playful than the previous one. “As for the Ship’s Carpenter...”</p><p></p><p>“Hey! Not my fault the ship is in good repair right now,” Siran raised his hands. “Just you wait until there’s a storm, and you need to repair a spar. Then, all the morale raising in the world won’t help!”</p><p></p><p>Viktalia slugged him in the shoulder. Hard.</p><p></p><p>"We sail tomorrow," Kaled said with a laugh. "So it'd be best to beat him up on-shore, where he can get access to the masive healing of the abbots he'll need!"</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Emperor Valerian, post: 2490523, member: 15043"] [b]Captain, My Captain[/b] A few moments of chit-chat passed by, before the Baron rather lavishly waved to the butler. “Go and fetch... Cecil, hmmkay?” the Baron said, his brandy sloshing about in his goblet. “Of course M’lord,” the butler said in a slightly annoyed tone of voice, before turning about and leaving the hall at a quick, precise clip. For his part, Visiel wanted to sigh. [i]It appears that my commander has consumed too much drink. I sincerely hope he does not plan to lead us into the field this way.[/i] Visiel couldn’t get drunk himself, but he’d seen many human comrades engage in the activity. [i]I will never understand why most peoples... humans, orcs, elves even, all like to drink controlled amounts of poisons. They lose speech abilities, logical functions... ...a horrible state to be in during training, let alone on the battlefield.[/i] With a metallic huff, Visiel gave a slight shrug to himself as the butler reappeared, holding the door open for someone else. [i]At least my commander’s second in command is in control of himself, as are my comrades.[/i] When the butler bowed at the unknown figure, Visiel immediately realized that the newcomer was a higher rank, which meant only two things. Either the newcomer was the Baron’s second in command, or the Baron’s superior. [i]Yet the Baron asked the dark officer to go fetch this person... hence this person responds to the Baron, and therefore must be his second in command.[/i] Immediately within the hierarchy being constructed in Visiel’s brain, the butler’s position shifted downward. The newcomer also sported a large, luxuriant wig, as well as a pencil mustache and a very thin, very fine beard on his chin. He was clad in bright red and yellow silk, another sign in Visiel’s mind that he was high ranking. Finally, he carried himself with his back upright, his steps proper and precise... and Visiel frowned. [i]He has not seen combat.[/i] Visiel had seen this many times before. Young, brand new officers came into his command with their backs straight, their clothes perfect, their minds arrogant. Soon, the training that was war broke their pride, made their wigs vanish, and made their smooth hands grow calluses. “May I introdushe...” the Baron slurred as he struggled to gesture to the newcomer without stumbling, “Lord Celia Daod... son of ta Earl of Bladcore!” “Lord Cecil Daod, son of the Earl of Edgewood,” Visiel heard the butler correct the Baron, “He commands your second ship, the pinnace [i]Black Joke.[/i]” At the Baron’s look of confusion, the butler quietly prompted further. “The ship where these fine people will be assigned?” “Ah, yesh, of courz!” the Baron laughed and slurred again, clapping the butler on the back. Visiel’s mind dealt with two major thoughts from these words. In one, Visiel’s opinion of his commander decreased even more. [i]He lets himself be this way in front of his juniors, and his juniors must correct him. Ah well. He is a commander, a commander that will pay me metallic pieces.[/i] The second thought was related to the ship. [i]Black Joke. What is its displacement? How many crew? How many guns? What is her fastest speed? What point of sail does she reach that speed?[/i] Endless questions in his mind that he wanted to have answered. He knew better than to ask them all at once however. Humans tended to get annoyed at questions. The young noble immediately extended his hand to the young cleric called Siran, and then stopped and paused before Viktalia. “Well hello,” the young man crooned, bowing to kiss Viktalia’s hand. While she thanked him for the gesture, Visiel noticed the young man’s eyes were staring at a spot that was quite a bit below her face. [i]He is young. He looks for a mate,[/i] Visiel waved aside the young man’s attention to his comrade. [i]If he is a second in command, he must look to his unit first. Looking for a mate can be done off-duty.[/i] “My name is Viktalia?” the Formorteran said awkwardly almost a minute later, as the young man kept staring. Her voice made the young man snap his head upward, his face bright red. “Cecil Doad,” he said quickly, his eyes drifting back down. [i]He is distressing her.[/i] Visiel noticed, as Viktalia uncomfortably looked at the openly gawking Cecil. [i]It is never good when a comrade is distressed. They lose focus, something that is dangerous on the battlefield. I should introduce myself.[/i] “Sir,” Visiel said in a deep metallic voice, the room shaking slightly as his brought his metal frame to perfect attention. “Visiel, at your service, sir. I am skilled in salvage work, rifle shot, and with a warhammer. I am at your service, sir.” Visiel’s heart leapt slightly, as he heard those words echo off of the metallic walls. Those words meant he was part of a command. Part of something he knew, he understood, a place he knew he would be useful. Visiel wasn’t surprised at the young man’s look of fear, then confusion at seeing his immense form. Humans were unnecessarily scared of him. That was part of being a warforged. [i]I hope the second in command puts me to good use.[/i] “Um... Lord Dice?” Cecil asked rather plaintively. “Your salvager chief, sir,” the butler replied quietly. At Cecil’s blank look, the butler added, “the person that will be looking for sunken items after you sink enemy vessels.” [i]This does not bode well. The officer in black had to remind the second in command of my position.[/i] Visiel allowed himself another metallic sigh. [i]I hope he won’t forget any more.[/i] “Ah...um... yes, well um, hello,” the young noble gingerly extended a hand, one that Visiel carefully took and gently shook. Once again, experience had taught him humans did not appreciate firm, strong handshakes from him. “Welcome to...um... my crew. I...um... with your Lord’s permission,” Cecil gave a nod to the Baron, who tried to nod in return but instead stumbled forward almost into Viktalia, “will...um... take these people to my ship.” “Ah! Look over there!” his clipped voice rang out yet again an hour or so later as his finger stabbed towards the forest of masts and spars that marked the city harbor. “Our ship is over there, amongst the tall poles, though,” he added thoughtfully, “our ship’s pole is smaller than the others... probably because we’re smaller than the other ships.” [i]Masts... they’re called masts![/i] Viktalia wanted to complain as Cecil continued to yammer on, yet through some amazing piece of patience, she managed to keep her mouth shut... somehow. An hour with their young captain had revealed three truths to her: first, that whenever he got the chance, he oggled her chest, second, Lord Cecil Daod knew [i]nothing[/i] of sailing, and third, he didn’t know when to stop talking. After a few minutes of getting used to Visiel, he’d blabbered on about his life. The firstborn son of the Earl of Edgewood, Cecil was set on having a military career. He bragged that he’d graduated first in his class from the Imperial Naval Academy, a fact Viktalia guessed was a patent lie meant to impress her. He’d also claimed that important missions had kept him from behind assigned a ship until now. [i]Chances are your father twisted the Baron’s arm into letting you join... or your father and the Baron are good friends, or some other form of chummery,[/i] she thought. [i]There is no way a school for warship commanders would let someone as incompetent as you through![/i] A sideways glance towards Visiel revealed that the metallic behemoth, now some kind of noncommissioned officer, had kept an impassive face, save for a very slight grin that she didn’t fully understand. A glance in the other direction revealed Siran was the opposite... his prospective captain’s mistakes were plainly grating him, and by his winces and grunts, Viktalia guessed it would be only a matter of time before, commission or not, he’d snap at the young nobleman. “Is there anyone babysitting you?” the cleric growled after a moment, before Viktalia could plant an elbow into his ribs. “Hm?” the young nobleman stopped, and twirled one of his immaculate mustachios. “My friend asked if you have any other officers under your command, sir,” Viktalia said, forcing her sweetest smile to the front. As she expected, Cecil began to stare slightly, and the potential crisis in command, if insulting the Captain could be called such, had been easily averted. “Um...” Cecil muttered for a moment, before realizing that Viktalia knew he was staring. “Yes! Yes, of course! Why, there’s Lieutenant Kaled, of course, my first mate, and then there’s Midshipman Felgar, the ship’s guide...” [i]Navigator,[/i] Viktalia thought to herself, fighting not to wince again. “Kaled’s been very helpful. He was a ordinary sailor for the longest time, before he finally became an officer,” Cecil said, before turning around and resuming his march. “Too bad he’ll never make it above Lieutenant probably... too old, too cantankerous too,” he added, a slight tinge of resentment in his voice. [i]Probably more competent than you, I imagine... hence the sour look,[/i] Viktalia growled in her mind. [i]Set you straight a few times, hopefully.[/i] “What are the dimensions and crew capacities of the vessel?” Visiel finally asked. “Um... its a rather small ship, though I suppose its only my first command. Maybe 20 or 30 crew... maybe 40...” Cecil’s voice trailed off into thought. “Might be best to ask the ship’s real master,” Viktalia heard Siran hiss. “Ask Lt. Kaled once we get on board. He deals with all the unimportant numbers stuff,” Cecil said simultaneously, waving his hand about in disdain. As the forest of masts crew closer, Cecil suddenly stopped, his brow furrowed in hard thought. [i]Oh great... did his mommy forget to change his diaper?[/i] Viktalia wanted to grumble. “Now... which way was it to the ship?” Cecil said quietly, before adding a light curse. “Damnation, they should just hang huge signs on them so it’ll be easier to find. Bah!” [i]One Hour Later...[/i] “Is it me, or is the captain an idiot?” Siran hissed viciously as soon as Cecil had vanished. Normally, he would’ve taken up anyone’s offer to go to a brothel, but the cleric was far, far too annoyed, and couldn’t wait till Cecil emerged from the captain’s cabin, and left the boat. [i]Damn incompetent... I could even make a better captain than him! Maybe we should just sail out of port without him, save us some hassle...[/i] It had taken them another half hour to find the ship, after which Cecil had introduced them all to the ship’s crew. From the start, it was obvious the crew did not like their commander, and that their commander was oblivious to their disdain. Visiel had immediately busied himself helping to load the ship, but with his immense strength, the job took only a few minutes. He’d wandered off somewhere, Siran wasn’t sure where exactly. [i]Maybe he followed Viktalia’s suggestion to help load the Baron’s ship...[/i] In front of the cleric, his conversation partner laughed. The man was short and stoutly shaped, his body heavy, but with muscle. A ragged, grizzly beard came from his chin, tattoos festooned his arms, and an eyepatch covered his left eye, where a ragged scar slashed across his face. Despite his rather fearsome look, in the half hour since they had begun talking, it was apparent that Lieutenant Kaled loved to laugh, despite the sparseness of his teeth. What had also become immediately apparent was that Lieutenant Podris Kaled commanded the respect of the entire crew. When Cecil had boarded the ship, the crew hand’t come to attention until Kaled barked the order. It was Kaled supervising the loading of supplies, it was Kaled making sure the decks were cleared and being prepared for sail. It was Kaled who told them the state of the ship, showed them their bunks, and introduced them to the crew. [i]If he ever got it into his mind to kick Cecil overboard...[/i] Siran had realized immediately. “By Tesseron’s Golden Harp, that’s true!” Kaled slapped Siran on the back, as several nearby sailors guffawed. “He’s a good thing to have... or, as I should say, his purse is!” “Money can’t buy seamanship,” Siran countered, causing another round of laughs. “True that is, young one. But for now,” Kaled said simply, “we must live with his presence, at least until the great Baron finds something else to do with this lively young prodigy of a commander!” “Bah,” Siran said simply, before looking around again. Underneath his feet, the crimson deck rocked slightly in the meager waves inside Erelion’s great harbor. Even though he stood in the middle of the ship, by her mainmast, he could only walk around 25 feet in each direction before he would meet the bow and stern respectively. Above, pennants lazily flew from the ship’s two small masts, and to each side sat four cannons, their squat iron forms securely stowed for now. The sight of them made Siran smile. [i]Viktalia thought those cannons were so huge,[/i] he laughed, remembering his friend’s expression at seeing the 9 pounders. Between chuckles, Siran had to explain to her that these were some of the smallest cannon mounted on ships. Demi-culverins, they called them. When he mentioned that some of the big warships have cannons that fire balls five times that weight, he thought her eyes would pop out of her head. “He seems eager... at least,” Viktalia said sadly, as she came up from below deck. Fortunately, she didn’t know what Siran was grinning about. His grin faded when he saw the look on her face, a look that seemed to resemble the face of someone who’d just been told their favorite puppy had been killed. “What’s so bad that it makes you look like St. Siabrey just told you you’re going to die?” he asked rather immoderately. The followers of St. Heraclius had little time for other saints aside from their own. “There’s no fruit below!” Viktalia almost plaintively whined. As if on cue, she thumped her head against the deck in theatrical anguish. “None! No apples, no pears, no oranges, not even [i]dried[/i] fruit! They have nothing to eat below except some rancid beef, some grain for bread, and cheap ale!” [i]What was that?[/i] “Cheap ale?” Siran asked, his mood changing to very concerned. “How cheap?” he asked, his eyebrow raising. “Its like drinking water from a latrine!” Viktalia complained, raising her head. “Except its like someone also dumped some dead rats into the vat, to make it extra smelly!” She laid her head down on the deck again. “More importantly, I need fruit! I’m Formorteran!” “You [i]need[/i] fruit?” Siran asked, before suddenly shaking his head. “Forget the damn fruit! We’ve got an ale crisis here!” “Aye... that’s one thing he won’t open his purse for,” Kaled said, his own voice grumpy. “He paid for this ship to be repainted... crimsons decks, no less! Paid for all the repairs I recommended... new spars, a new bowsprit, even rechristened this boat [i]Black Joke[/i]. The joke’s on us though... he refuses to pay for any good drink, or food!” Kaled spat onto the deck. “That’s despite us telling him that fruit keeps scurvy away!” [i]Oh no... not on board this boat![/i] Siran groaned. [i]I had to put up with piss poor ale for months on land, and I’m not about to do that while I’m stuck on this raft at sea![/i] “Hell no!” Siran grunted. [i]Mutinies start over things like this![/i] “He is the son of the Earl of Blackpool, he has all this money, yet he [i]refuses[/i] to buy decent food and drink?” Siran put special emphasis on the word ‘drink.’ Kaled nodded, and Siran gave another curse, this one complaining about the nobility and various body parts from St. Valerian and St. Elagas. He morosely scuffed his foot back and forth on the deck, until he noticed something... ...actually someone. Viktalia was still partially out of the ship’s hold, her own head on the deck in distress over the lack of fruit. At the angle, Siran had a perfect view of certain parts of her anatomy... and immediately, his mind jumped back to Cecil’s huge eyes some hours ago when he’d first met the Formorteran dancer. Two and two came together... well, more like one and one... [i]And a brilliant idea is born![/i] Siran thought, his glower changing to a smile. “My my, your face changed a bit there,” Kaled said, after a moment, the shorter man coming up right alongside Siran. His eyebrow raised, looking at Siran, before following the cleric’s gaze, and almost immediately, he gave a grunt. “Huh. That might work.” “What?” Viktalia said quietly, looking up from her own pouting. “I think we just found our twin saviors,” Siran grinned, before telling Viktalia the plan. “That was easy,” Viktalia laughed about an hour later, crossing her arms as the sailors of the [i]Black Joke[/i] loaded box after box of dried fruit, and barrel after barrel of fine Formorteran brandy. Five tons worth of dried fruit, as well as two tons of brandy. “That’d better be a hell of a performance,” Kaled said in awe. “I’ve never seen him open his purse so quickly on a request.” “You’d better ‘raise his morale,’” Siran chuckled as Viktalia turned to him with narrowed, blazing eyes. “Shutup.” [i]Why can’t he get the idea in his head that I don’t strip, or do whatever debauched things his foul mind thinks of?![/i] Her scowled darkened momentarily, before she decided Siran’s dark idiocy wasn’t worth her time. She then turned to Kaled, her expression changing to one of smiling triumph. “Well, it will be a good performance, but,” she said, her smile growing larger, “I just neglected to inform him that I have a policy of no private dances. So yes, he’ll see a dance... it’s just he’ll have to watch with the other twenty crew members.” “So then you’re going to raise [i]all[/i] their...” Siran started. Viktalia hissed, and only gave the cleric a scowl, to which Siran merely laughed. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be a great help in keeping the crew occupied during their free time,” Kaled said, giving only a grin towards Siran’s joke. “Heaven’s know, some of these sailors, if they have nothing to do, see, or talk about, they get quite bored...” “An idle hand sows trouble,” Viktalia smiled, quoting another human saint, St. Valerian the Ruler. “As the ship’s quartermaster, I’ll do my best,” she gave a flourishing bow, before turning to Siran and giving him a scowl far more playful than the previous one. “As for the Ship’s Carpenter...” “Hey! Not my fault the ship is in good repair right now,” Siran raised his hands. “Just you wait until there’s a storm, and you need to repair a spar. Then, all the morale raising in the world won’t help!” Viktalia slugged him in the shoulder. Hard. "We sail tomorrow," Kaled said with a laugh. "So it'd be best to beat him up on-shore, where he can get access to the masive healing of the abbots he'll need!" [/QUOTE]
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High Seas Shenanigans (Updated: 12/04/05)
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