Deekra pulled out a long shaft from her quiver. Shaking her head at the other beasts she notched her bow. She was ready for action, as much as she disliked violence. She watched as Liam scampered off to get the captain. Nobeast could shoot an arrow like her on this ship (Don`t take that as an offence please. Deekra might just have a different style)
The pine marten gulped as he scampered off to find the captain. He would most likely be in his quarters this time of day.
Dashing across teh top of the ship, weaving his way through the beasts who were working here Liam comes to the captains quarters. The portly pine marten knock with his knuckles against the door, "Capt'in! Cap'in! Ship off the Port Bow!" he says, hoping to let the captain know the news through the door so aa not to incure his wrath for barging in un announced.
Liam had spend most of his young life trying not to get killed. he would hate to break his 23 year record for staying alive on such a wonderful day.
Zemmerug woke with a start. Some evil monster was smashing at his door! He jumped up. This beast has no manners. He groggily shook his head, looking for a weapon, when he began to get through his wall of sleepiness. Zemmerug was not a morning perso…. er.... beast. Zitspike grabbed his cutlass, processing what he'd heard. He kicked the door open, and ran out as fast as he could, as beasts began to notice his presence they began to make room for him. Whitepaw came up to him, explained the situation, minus the argument with Jaggle, and asked for orders.
"Shoot da ship. Ah want lossa projectiles thrown at et. If et gets close nuff, a wanna board."
Deekra listened to Captain Zemmerug`s orders, and in the next moment her arrow skimmed the water, hitting the hull of the approaching boat. Every time the boat bobbed down the hull would weaken under the water and soon water would gush in. Swiftly she shot another, which landed touching the first. The wood splintered. If no beast on that ship noticed the hole, it would slowly sink. Just to make sure no beast went below to check it out, Deekra sent a third arrow thudding into the shoulder of the first beast that was racing to go down. The beast fell to his knees, clutching at it.
Liam by then was still rolling on the ground after the captian's exodus from the cabin planted the door firmly into his snout, chest and belly. Clutching at his muzzle the marten rolls onto his stomach and finally feet.
Thankfull his snout was not broken Liam drew the cutlass at his side and then went to take his post. The marten may not look like much of a threat but in reality he was an ecperianced skirmisher. They often took the brunt of the casualties being first to board an enemy ship.
Faced with the prospects of a shortened life span Liam drank heavily, ate well, and partied like therr was no tomarrow. His life style was starting to show around his waist line as his body gradually grew thicker. But make no mistake. The pine marten would fight tooth and claw if he had to…
Liam eyed the ship wearily as it approached, closer and coser to either a victorious reward, or an early grave.
Zemmerug pointed to a ferret named Waggy.
"Yer gonna be commandin' some bow beasts da fire flamin' arrows whilst dey approach."
He said to the ferret. He then pointed to 20 or so beasts, including Liam.
"Yew beasts is gonna be da bow beasts. Lissen ta Waggy"
Said the weasel corsair captain.
Deekra was one of the beasts pointed to. She shot a glance at one of them, a fat, brown furred pine marten. She did not think he would last too long. Just then, there was a resounding boom, and one of the smaller masts came tumbling into the water, still carrying a screaming rat lookout. Other vermin ran around, panicked, trying to find safety in barrels and crates. Deekra stood her ground, pulling out flint and steel.
Liam stood bravely, waiting for his chance at cobat…until their ship came under fire. He wasn't a coward persay, he just prefured taking actions taht kept his hide intact at the expense of his shame.
Hitting the deck and covering his head against the splinters that wash over his back and tail. "Bleedin heck!" Indeed, the marten would make a fine target for archers if he wasn't smart enough to take cover.
He scurries on all fours towards the boat's edge. Throwing his back against the cover the marten draws his blade. Another day another ship load of beasts to fight...
A flurry of arrows turned the barrel a weasel was hiding behind into a pincushion. Deekra
s fire arrow hit the opposing ships sails and they went up in flames. She watched as the hole she made earlier widened, bit by bit as the ship started slowly sinking. But then, somebeast below blocked the hole up. Deekra ground her teeth in frustration. Without warning an arrow sailed through the air and hit the shoulder of the crouching fat pine marten. Another followed, nearly hitting Deekra, who was saved by crouching down to check on the pine marten`s breathing. He seemed okay, but Deekra still began to drag him carefully to the infirmary.
Liam could only stare in shock at the arrow portruding from his shoulder. It was lodged just above to the ide of his ribs under his arm. A few inches to the right and it would have struck his lunchs. After that no ammount of healing would save him.
The marten was in pain but he was too shocked to feel it yet. He fell to the floor, clutching at the wound, rapier falling from his paws. The fat bellied marten could only stare at his wound, vaugly aware of the fox dragging him away.
Alright. What did you have in mind for a character? I was thinking more along the lines of something similar to Mr. Gibbs from Pirates of the Carribean (General character type, older, more directing the boarding than actually taking part in it). I'll write up something tonight or tomorrow morning and join in then.
ooc at the moment I am making up npc's on the fly, basing them lightly on other alts I've had in the past. Unless I say otherwise any npc I make up in this story is free game to mess with. You have my permission to interact with my altsto any degree with in pg13 levels. They can be shot, stabbed, sliced open, thrown to the sharks to be eaten, or executed by the captain, hence why Liam was allowed to get shot in the shoulder with an arrow ^^
ooc for the record I would't allow that on my main alts, but here with npcs I think it makes it more exciting for my actions to have consiquences :D. My next alt is going to be another lowly reptile boarder. I will pose in after deekra poses again.
(OOC: He he he, I got you hit… he he he)
IC: Deekra dropped Liam off to the infirmary. His breathing was rapid and harsh. She pushed his rapier into his paw and left him to the infirmary keeper, racing back to see the enemy ship attempting to board. She dodged a salvo of slingstones and ran to Zemmerug
s side.What do we do now, Captain?` she asked.
"We fight back! That'ssss what!" The voice belongs to a diminitive fellow, a reptile to be exact. The lizard has a black dot pattern running down his dark blue scales. His underbelly is a dark black as well. While well fed and sleek his body is no where near as heavy as the marten who is now laying on a makeshift table down below, having a bolt cut from his chest. The process of medi evil healing is not for the faint of heart, so let us focus once again on this new lizard.
The corsair Zee wears a tattered and ratty pair of trousers, held up by a rope belt. Across his head is a cloth bandana. His chest is left bare save for the occasional scar or two. In each paw he is holding a small hatchet. Both look dull with jagged edges.
The sea air did wonders for metal.
ooc oh! also as a side note, if any of you do decide to kill off these npcs, please don't 'instant' kill them. A spear to the gut is easier to rp than a sword blow to the skull
((OOC: Hope you don't mind if I play some minor part in this. Like coolcoyote, I don't mind too much if my character gets killed off.))
A good ship's surgeon keeps patients calm and reassured. This stops them from potentially hurting themselves and others.
"Pour sand on the floor, get me three bottles of rum, and a spoon!"
Zelamir Rudo was not a good ship's surgeon. It was just past four bells, and the one-eyed weasel was already slipping on the bloodstained deck of the infirmary. This was turning out to be a dreadful morning; he hadn't even had his tea yet, and already he had at least three serious arrow wounds to deal with. To make matters worse, there was blood getting onto Zelamir's apron, which he wore over his white shirt. He had rolled up his sleeves, but his left cuff was now stained red, as he'd slipped and accidentally stuck his elbow into the bucket of amputated limbs. Thankfully not all was lost; his cheerful sunshine-yellow britches were still clean.
The infirmary was a dimly lit, morbid little room hidden away in the lower bow section of the ship. The few wounded corsairs that had made it down there were groaning in pain, and gazing nervously at the surgeon's collection of hacksaws, hammers, knives and axes that were strewn over the tables and shelves. A pot of water was being boiled over a small wood-fired stove. There was a small door that led to the stairs up into the ships' upper decks, and another door on the far side of the room that led to the surgeon's quarters.
Zelamir's assistant, a bright young rat called Giton, hurriedly picked up a bag of sand from the corner and sprinkled it liberally over the bloodstains. Now the deck wouldn't be so slippery, and Zelamir could concentrate on his next patient. The weasel squinted with his one eye at the pine marten's shoulder, struggling to see by the flickering candlelight. He took off his monocle for a moment, and wiped the lens on his remaining clean shirt cuff. Zelamir didn't have an eyepatch over his blind eye; the milky, sightless pupil was there for all to see. He had needed glasses before, but thanks to an unfortunate incident with a sea otter and a fishing knife, now he only needed a monocle.
Giton scurried to the shelf, brought back a bottle of rum and gave it to Zelamir. The weasel grasped it in both bloody paws and yanked the cork off with a loud pop. He leant over the pine marten and grinned, showing his gold teeth.
"The arrow's pierced his pectoralis minor and subscapularis muscles." The weasel flipped open a large book on the table, which was full of drawings of muscles and bones. He peered at a drawing of shoulder muscles for a moment, then gently coaxed the marten's muzzle open with his paw. "Open wide, young Liam, this'll numb the pain!"
The ship swayed as Zelamir forced Liam to chug down the rum, causing it to spill and drip down from the marten's muzzle and mingle with the blood on the table. Giton brought forth the spoon as the weasel had requested, as well as a clean napkin. Zelamir took the spoon, and mopped his sweaty, grimy brow with the napkin. This was the delicate part of the operation, made all the more difficult by the ship's constant motion. Zelamir sniffed at the near-empty bottle of rum, shrugged, and finished off the rest of the drink himself with a loud belch. Just a little rum would calm his nerves and steady his aim, the surgeon reasoned.
Zelamir took a deep breath, and pulled out the arrow shaft. The arrowhead had been attached to the shaft with wax, and now the arrow had hit the marten, the barbed iron head had detached and buried itself deep in the marten's shoulder. Zelamir tossed the arrow shaft aside; it arced through the air and plonked neatly into the pot of hot water. Liam moaned, and convulsed in pain.
"Giton! Hold him down!" Zelamir barked. The little rat lad held the bigger marten down on the table. Liam had to weigh twice what Giton did, but the surgeon's assistant had a surprising amount of strength for his diminutive figure. The weasel surgeon bent over the wound with his spoon, and grimaced. This would be so much easier if he had two eyes. Zelamir wiggled the spoon into the wound, pressing down harder as Liam squirmed under him and howled for his mother. The weasel could feel the spoon brushing up against the hard metal of the arrowhead. It took a few more painful seconds of jinking and wiggling and scooping to get it safely into the spoon, but at last Zelamir pulled it out without the barbs tearing up any more of the marten's flesh.
"There, that wasn't so bad now, was it?" Zelamir beamed at the distraught Liam. He dabbed the tears of pain from the unfortunate patient's cheeks with his napkin, and with Giton's help, half-lifted and half-dragged the heavy pine marten off the table and to one of the recovery hammocks. "Now, I must insist on a fortnight's resting of that arm. No heavy lifting, climbing, or maiming anybeast with your bare paws. Plenty of food and rest!"
"You think he needs more food, master?" Giton scratched his head, eyeing the marten's round belly. The crew of the Midnight Fury were hardly ever lacking for plentiful provisions, which only proved that they were successful and dangerous corsairs.
Zelamir folded his arms and pouted at the rat. "Giton, you still have much to learn. Enough questions from you, and bring the next patient to the table!"
The marten would normally whole heartedly agree that he needed more food. It's how he accumulated so much flesh, especially around his bulging abdomin. Today though he just cried and let out a mournfull gasp at the pain, blinking in and out of conciousness.
Part of the reason the crew were so good was a want to avoid getting hurt and sent to this particular doctor. Liam had heard horror stories about this weasel. All these months at sea dodging blades and axes and the marten had managed to avoid ever being sent here.
Quite frankly Liam was thankfull the weasel didn't mistakenly slice open something important. He was even more thankfull he got to keep his arm. He was terrified enough to ask if his arm was going to be ok but he didn't want to give the doctor any ideas.