AmongHeroes

Tides of Dusk: A Piratical Tale of Fantasy

Thomas opened his eyes to a gleaming Caribbean sun, an azure sky, and the calm rush of waves pressing against the shore. He felt himself lying upon a beach, the warm grains of wet sand molding to his back and scratching at his hair. With his matchless copper eyes, he looked about, utterly confused.

His mind was clouded, and he could not recall how he had come to be here upon the beach. A feeling lingered, a dull ache in his stomach and shoulders, as well as a distinct sense of grief. None of these sensations made sense to Thomas however, and he had not the slightest inkling as to why he felt as he did.

Sitting up, Thomas propped his torso off the sand with his arms outstretched like buttresses behind him. Looking down, he noticed he was dressed in a brilliantly white linen shirt, and a pair of comfortable and simple cotton pants. His feet were bare, and he wriggled his toes at himself as he set about contemplating how he had come to be in this place.

“Well, by the eyes of Judas himself, look what the tide washed up.”

Thomas started at the sound of the gruff voice that came from behind him. Instantly he sprang to his feet, and spun about. His arms rose in a stance of defense, and he set his feet wide apart in preparation for an attack. Just as quickly as he had readied himself however, when Thomas’ eyes fell upon the source of the voice, his face immediately slackened with surprise, and his arms dropped to his sides.

“Blast your eyes,” Thomas muttered in shock. “How in the all the hells are you here?”

The infamous pirate known only as Lightfoot laughed heartily. “How am I here? Ha! I should be asking you that you inglorious whelp. You appear on my island and spit out musings about how I’m here? I tell you, nothing ever changes. Always ‘me, me, me’ with the youth today.”

Dumbfounded, Thomas could only continue to stare slack-jawed at his long deceased mentor and adopted father. The man appeared as Thomas had known him in his prime, with an aged, but regal face trimmed in a full blond beard that was just beginning to turn a light gray. The deep-set, calculating eyes were also there, seemingly evaluating every part of Thomas as he stared. Lightfoot was dressed in his usual blue coat, a brown buttoned shirt open to below his chest, dark breeches, and a pair of tall naval boots. Slung over the man’s shoulder was a brace of pistols, just as Thomas wore them, and a scabbard with a large cutlass hanging at his left hip.

Lightfoot took Thomas’ moment of stunned silence to step forward and envelope him a bear hug that took the wind from his lungs.

“I’m only teasing you, Thomas. By all the rum in Tortuga, it does my heart well to see you.”

Thomas could only stand limp in the man’s strong embrace, before at last he was able to regain enough composure to reach up and pat Lightfoot’s back. At that, Lightfoot relinquished his grip and stepped back a pace before slapping Thomas firmly upon both shoulders.

“Tell me, my boy, how have you been eh? It’s been years. I’ll get us some kill-devil, and you can twist my ear with every last detail.”

Lightfoot withdrew a large masonry jug from out of nowhere, and set quickly down upon the sand beside where Thomas stood. Looking up, Lightfoot patted the sand, indicating Thomas should take a seat.

“Am I dead? Is this heaven?” Thomas said, still standing.

“Heaven, he says!” Lightfoot set into another guffaw of laughter, rocking back and forth upon his buttocks as his barrel chest heaved with the action. Taking the cork from the bottle, Lightfoot ceased his mirth long enough to take a healthy pull from the liquid inside. Reaching up with his free hand, Lightfoot clasped Thomas by the wrist, and pulled him roughly to the ground next to him.

Caught off guard, Thomas landed with a ‘whumpf.’ Pulling himself upward from the ground, and swatting sand from his whiskers, Thomas made an effort to begin railing against the older man, but Lightfoot stopped him.

“You’re not dead, and this certainly isn’t heaven.” Lightfoot said. “Though I am flattered that you’d think either of us would be capable of making it past the pearly gates. Especially me.” The stately pirate shrugged, his deep brown eyes searching for an appropriate answer for Thomas. As the man shrugged, Thomas caught a glimpse of tattooed flesh beneath the folds of Lightfoot’s shirts. The sight prompted a quick smile as the familiar aspect brought forth fond memories of the elder pirate.

“I suppose this is perdition,” Lightfoot said, not noticing Thomas’ smile, “or perhaps just someplace for God to keep me until he truly decides where I should spend eternity.” Lightfoot’s eyes looked sideways to Thomas. “You’re just here visiting, of that much I am sure. You don’t have that cloak of death wrapped about you.”

Lightfoot swung the jug of kill-devil to Thomas, and bade him to drink. “Take a swig of that and get to talking, my boy. Who knows how long we have here, and I want to hear it all.” The man looked to Thomas with a smile that hid the bottoms of his eyes behind tan, rounded cheeks, and folds of crow’s feet.

For a moment, Thomas merely looked to the man who had raised him. Being here with the man seemed so natural and effortless, that despite his initial shock, Thomas felt as if he had merely left the man drinking at the Black Boar just the other night, instead of watching him die on some far-flung island. It was a strange yet comforting familiarity, and though Thomas felt he should be more perturbed at his circumstances, he could not bring himself to do so.

Instead, Thomas took the offered liquor, and drank deeply. Coughing slightly at the strength, Thomas returned the jug to Lightfoot, and immediately set into telling the man of everything that had transpired since he had passed.

For the next several hours the two men spoke, laughed, and drank. Thomas regaled Lightfoot with his adventures, of his loves, of his crew, and of the Dusk Skate. Mostly Lightfoot merely listened, occasionally asking for more detail, or simply laughing with his young friend. By the time the sun above had settled towards the horizon, and the jug of kill-devil was all but empty, Thomas at last found himself at the happenings of the Crimson Feather, and the Siren attack.

Realization came to Thomas like a shot to the chest, and he looked to Lightfoot in awe. “That’s how I came to be here, the Siren attack. I was injured, and the last thing I remember was slitting one of the foul beast’s throat. By God’s bones…” Thomas looked down to his bare feet, his mind reeling.

Lightfoot looked to Thomas with a knowing expression. “Well, my boy, with that it looks like our time here is at an end. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to have seen you. You have truly become the man I knew you would be. I’m proud of you, Thomas.”

Thomas gave Lightfoot a quizzical stare. “What do you mean my time here is at an end? How am I to…”

Without warning, Lightfoot lunged forward and shoved Thomas hard in the chest.

“What in the hell…” Thomas said, falling backward onto the sand. He had no time to continue his question, as Lightfoot was instantly upon him. The man shoved him over and over, driving Thomas’ chest downward, and pressing his back into the sand.

Helpless, Thomas watched as Lightfoot raised a hand high over his head, and affixed him with a friendly, almost sad gaze. “Goodbye, my boy. Until we meet again.”

With that, Lightfoot brought his balled fist down hard once more onto Thomas’ chest. The island immediately vanished in a starburst of white light.

Thomas’ eyes shot open, the copper rimmed irises focusing quickly upon the beautiful features of Nicolette as she pressed her lips to his, and filled his lungs with her breath. With his eyes still wide with surprise, Thomas brought his hands up to clutch the sides of the First Mate’s head. In one swift motion, Thomas pushed Nicolette away from his mouth, and set himself up.

Gasping, he let go of Nicolette’s face, and used his hands instead to help keep him setting upright. For several long moments he looked at Nicolette, unsure of what exactly had transpired. He noticed that she was straddling him, and that she was soaked to the bone. He also became keenly aware that his chest hurt like hell, and that Antonia knelt just beside him.

Still in a state of shock, Thomas looked down to his stomach through his tattered shirt. The flesh there was red and swollen where the Siren’s teeth had slashed his skin, but miraculously the cuts had healed completely.

Glancing between the angelic faces of both Antonia and Nicolette, the joy and wonder of being alive flooded into him, and in that instant he couldn’t hold his tongue.

“I’m not sure what all happened,” Thomas said with a sideways grin, his chest still heaving with deep breaths. “But this is quite possibly the most erotic moment that I have ever had the pleasure to find myself in.”

The Last Kings of Orion

Such great posts to read. I know I've said it before, but I shall do so again: you all are a pleasure to RP with.

The Last Kings of Orion

“Smartest man?” Gavin chuckled warmly, thankful for the chance to change the tack of the conversation to a lighter shade. “There was a Major League pitcher in the first half of the Twentieth Century, though I can’t recall his name, he often was quoted as saying ‘I’d rather be lucky than good.’ Now don’t you look at me that way, Sergeant Larson,” Gavin teased with a wag of his finger, “there’s no law to keep us British chaps from following baseball.”

“That’s all I am, Abby…” He gave the blond MP a quick wink and a broad smile. “Lucky.”

His deep blue eyes looked profoundly into Abby’s lighter and brighter azure ones. “Just like when I bumped into you in the halls of the Mountain. I ended up gaining two friends that day: you and Michael. That never would have happened without that scientifically unexplainable phenomenon known as fortune, and I am forever thankful for it.”

Gavin shifted his gaze downward, realizing just how intently he had been looking at Abby. He didn’t bother trying to hide the slight color that came to his fair cheeks, for he truly wasn’t embarrassed by his honesty, even when it was conveyed by the hue of his skin.

“I attribute my good luck to my shoes,” he continued, giving the worn black Chucks a wiggle. Gavin smiled once more, and returned his eyes to look upon Abby. “So God help me if something were to ever happen to them. I’d be like a lost lamb.”

There was a brief silence that fell over the lab then. It was a comfortable one, as if the quiet were merely the settling of a warm blanket that had been tossed into the air. It was the same kind of feeling that had lingered in Abby and Michael’s room in the Mountain years ago now. Gavin had finished reading that last chapter of Tolkien, and had looked up to find the mother-son pair soundly sleeping upon their bed. It had been a moment Gavin would forever cherish, and one that would always be counted among his fondest memories.

Reluctantly, Gavin knew he had to respond to the more serious issues Abby had raised, and so he let the warm silence be pulled away with the sound of his voice.

“I imagine it was a dire certainty,” he said with his expression becoming harder. “Once the General’s daughter was involved, the man’s fate was sealed. I can’t say that I could blame the General. If there were even the slightest solace gained from the murderer’s execution, I don’t doubt that I would have been compelled to do the same.”

“Still, I believe there is much more to be born out in the name of due-diligence. The apparent haste of it all, especially after hearing of the lack of a thorough investigation, as you described, is troubling. Though I hope there is nothing else to discover, we can’t let it go without truly knowing, can we?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Gavin knew Abby’s feeling on the matter. Downing the rest of his coffee, he set the mug down upon the nearby desk, and gave Abby a sideways grin.

“It would be my pleasure to accompany you in meeting with Mr. Eadoré. I imagine I can keep up with his technical jawing, though I make no promises with the French accent. Hell, I have enough troubles sometimes trudging through my own dialect.”

Gavin chuckled. It was a hearty sound that followed him as he stood, and moved towards where his coffee pot still remained upon the warming plate. Picking up the carafe, he turned to freshen Abby’s mug before polishing the remainder off into his own cup. Blowing across the top of the steaming liquid, he consulted his smart device as it chirped within the hip pocket of his Levi’s.

“Well,” he said with a smirk as he read Deli’s response to his earlier message. “I have an appointment coming in shortly, or I’d say we could go hunt down our French friend presently. I apologize for the delay, Abby. Shall I find you when I’m finished? Perhaps we could meet in the mess during the lunch hour?”

The Last Kings of Orion

OLGA let her eyes fall to the floor, her features exuding a beautiful shade of shame as Hob spoke to her about all the dire possibilities that could come from her misadventure outside of her digital confines. She knew very well all that could befall her, especially now that the command structure of the Copernicus was on edge following the murders during Second Shift. What she had not dwelled upon, however, were the implications for Hob. The man was right: there weren’t any other NI-techs that would have even entertained the notion of letting her out. If she was caught, there would be no plausible means to steer Hob away from suspicion.

It was an odd thing to realize for OLGA: that she had not thought of everything, especially when it came to her dearest friend. She felt an instant thrill, and a simultaneous shock of humiliation. Being forgetful, or simply missing a detail, was a very humanistic trait, and that element gave OLGA a distinct note of pleasure. Yet, on the other side of the coin, she was supposed to also be above such fallibility, and that part truly frightened her.

“Hob, wait. Forget it.” OLGA began quietly, even as the man still spoke of all the terrible consequences his aid could herald. “Hob, I didn’t even think of what kinds of things they could do to you. I’m so sorry. I can’t even…”

Even as she protested, with her green eyes downcast to the planks of the floor, OLGA didn’t notice Hob moving to stand above her. When at last his statement of acceptance registered to her digital mind, she looked up, surprised. There he stood, his kind face looking down to her. The key to her freedom was offered in his outstretched hand, and she was overcome with emotion.

Her large eyes crinkled at the corners, and her sculpted brows drew down over long lashes. She reached up, and took the key with tentative fingers, her eyes never leaving Hob’s. OLGA had been taken aback at how despite all the horrible things he had just iterated, Hob trusted her enough to place his well-being in her hands. It was more faith than anyone, including her very own father, had ever granted to her.

As she took the key from him, OLGA clutched Hob’s hand, and used it to help lever herself to stand. She stepped to him then, just as the first tears of happiness were forming at the corners of her eyes. Standing upon her toes, she wrapped her arms slowly and tightly about Hob’s neck. Her slight frame pressed against his, and nestling her head into the crux of his jaw, just below his ear, OLGA cried tears of joy for the first time in all of her existence.

The Last Kings of Orion

Hey fellow galactic travelers, just wanted to let you know that I'll be away from my 'puter until Monday morning. This little notice is mainly for Justric and Grainy, but I can still wish all of you a pleasant weekend nonetheless .

Tides of Dusk: A Piratical Tale of Fantasy

Thomas’ elation at the success of the cannon shot was fleeting, and his joy turned quickly to sour dismay in his mouth. While they had managed to break the spell of the Siren’s momentarily, they had also called the full fury of the beasts to the Dusk Skate.

Watching with silent and growing dread, Thomas’ jaw set as the slimy gray bodies of the Sirens flashed through the fire-lit waters. The creatures moved with preternatural speed; apex predators on the path of their prey. Almost thoughtlessly, Thomas’s hands reached up to the brace of pistols held in the bandolier across his chest. He drew them both, and cocked back the hammers of each in smooth succession. Even as the Sirens closed upon the hull of the ship, Thomas knew in his heart of hearts that this would be the most harrowing battle of his life.

The report of a pistol shot, quickly accompanied by the call ”Prepare for boarding!” caught Thomas’ attention, and he looked back. His eyes alit upon Antonia, and he watched as her grey eyes looked to him, and her quiet words met his ears.

He did not understand what she intended to do, but he trusted his love, and he needed no more bidding—even if time had allowed for such. Thomas knew he would give his life to protect Antonia regardless of the circumstances. The Sirens that were boarding his ship would face the full measure of his wrath, of that he vowed.

With his silent conviction, Thomas turned his back to where Antonia now knelt, his copper eyes scanning the deck. Around him, the grotesque gray forms of the Sirens were writhing over the ship’s railing, and he watched as they tore into the paralyzed crewmen. Distantly, Thomas perceived that the Siren’s still held their ethereal sway over many of the pirates, and he mouthed a silent prayer of thanks that somehow—be it his strength of will, or some other unknown force—was keeping his mind warded from the deadly trance.

A slick, scuttling sound to his left made him spin on his heels, and he caught sight of a Siren raise to strike at Antonia like a viper, its gaping maw bright with rows of fangs. Thomas stepped forward in a flash, and brought his first pistol to bear. He fired into the creature’s neck, and with a sickening screech that drown out even the roar of the gun, gore exploded from where the ball impacted. Thomas did not wait to see the Siren fall, as amidst the billow of black powder smoke, he caught another glimpse of advancing grey flesh.

Dropping his expended pistol, Thomas raised his other weapon. His second shot roared, and he was rewarded with yet another sharp, animalistic squeal of pain. The aim however was not as true as the first, and through the cloud of smoke, a flash of claws struck at Thomas’ right shoulder and chest. Like hot knives, the claws tore into his flesh, and spun him about.

Landing hard upon his knees, Thomas rolled, and brought his free hand to the small of his back to draw his dagger. The Siren was upon him instantly, landing another strike with its right hand across his ribs. Grunting at the searing pain, Thomas watched as his assailant raised its left arm, preparing for another blow.

Seeing his opportunity, Thomas stabbed upward with his dagger, and buried the sharp blade to its hilt within the Siren’s exposed armpit. Like an injured snake, the Siren immediately bucked itself off of the dagger, and began writhing and flopping in death throes upon the deck.

Borne up with a torrent of adrenaline, Thomas found himself on his feet. The first two of the dispatched Sirens were forgotten as he looked to ensure that Antonia was still safe. To his great relief, the rogue still knelt, apparently unharmed. In that bare moment Thomas saw that Antonia was lost to the world, as her eyes were distant, almost cloudy in the low light. She seemed transfixed in an all-encompassing dream, and in spite of all that was happening around him, Thomas shivered.

Miraculously, Thomas felt the approach of yet another of the Sirens, and he tore his focus from Antonia just in time to avoid its snapping jaws. Pirouetting away, Thomas spun the emptied pistol that he still clutched, gripping it like a bludgeon as he had done in the brawl just nights before. He brought the brass-capped pistol butt down hard onto the Sirens head, and he was rewarded with a sickening crunch of bone. His other hand came up to deliver a slash with the dagger, when he became paralyzed with gut-wrenching agony.

His eyes flitted downwards to look in horror as another Siren set its fangs into the side of his abdomen. With the breath stripped of his lungs, Thomas’ mouth opened in a silent scream, and his body shook. From where its head was, the Siren looked up at Thomas with black, maleficent eyes. Around the folds of its slimy mouth, rivulets of crimson blood trickled, staining its grey skin, and pooling into the valleys of its face.

Time seemed to slow in the clutches of the beast. Quaking with shock, Thomas looked up. As if viewing the scene from above himself, Thomas gaze fell to his embattled ship. He saw Nicolette not far off, valiantly throwing herself into the wave of Sirens. He saw Jax at the helm, piloting the Dusk Skate while all the while keeping the foul creatures at bay. Lastly, he found Antonia, still kneeling, still wrapped in the strange folds of her trance.

By God, she is so beautiful, he thought. I have failed her. I have failed them all.

The Siren that held Thomas in its mouth withdrew its fangs, and began moving its head for another bite. As it released him, Thomas began to fall, his legs lacking any strength to hold him. Descending downwards, Thomas reached upward in a last defiant effort. His left hand gripped at the back of the Siren’s neck, and he clasped it with all the force that remained in his fingers. Continuing to fall, the other hand that still clutched the dagger came upward, and with every last vestige of force, Thomas drew the sharp blade across the throat of the Siren.

When at last his back struck the deck, darkness was already ebbing into his vision. He heard only absently the gurgling scream of the Siren whose throat he had slit, and the sounds of the carnage around him dimmed to only a dull din. With eyes affixed distantly into the stars above, Thomas’ last sensation before the black completely overtook him was that of flashes of blinding light, the crack of thunder, the cold caress of falling rain, and the infernal tug of tempest wind.

The Last Kings of Orion

Great post, Justric. Now you've really gone and done it. 2001: A Space Odyssey, here we come...

The Last Kings of Orion

Gavin smiled automatically as Abby reached to pluck his reading glasses from his shirt pocket. It was a simple gesture, but one that spoke of familiarity and friendship. He relished the fleeting moment, and washed it down with a drink from his coffee cup. His warm feeling didn’t last overly long however, as Abby continued with her explanation of the murders and the details of the subsequent investigation.

As Abby spoke, Gavin merely listened with an ever deepening furrow to his brow. He would add the occasional “hmm” as the MP delved into the fact about General Lahnan’s daughter being the last victim, and the further news that the girl had become pregnant, and had decided to keep the child. That eventuality had not even occurred to Gavin, and once more he cursed the undying cruelty that man could perpetrate against itself. He had never had any children, but he could imagine how shell-shocked that General Lahnan must’ve been when he had heard the news.

When Abby had finished with her question, Gavin leaned forward to rest his elbows upon his knees. His hand found his forehead, and his fingers kneaded at the wrinkles thought was forcing upon his face.

“Thank you, Abby,” Gavin said first, “for the access to the files, I mean. I must say that there is much more to this than I even…I mean the General’s daughter? God.”

He trailed off for a moment, lost in thought. Reaching without looking, Gavin clutched several times for his coffee before finally grasping at the handle. He brought it to his lips, and drank in a gulp much larger than he had intended.

“Damn,” he sputtered, placing his free hand over his mouth as he coughed at the scalding liquid. “Sorry,” he choked, “sorry about that.” His face twisted into an expression of embarrassment. “Bloody hell, I can’t hold my own drink, eh? Worthless…”

Clearing his throat at last with a final “harrumph,” Gavin returned to Abby’s question. “As to your thoughts about the how of the matter, with the safeties on the cryobeds and all, you raise an excellent point. I am not a cryo-tech, but of what I do understand, it would be next to impossible for a tech to be able to kill with medication.”

His eyes found Abby’s, and he squinted with conviction. “The beds are specifically safeguarded against manual or accidental overdoses. Hell, the whole system was designed so it would be a cruel miracle for a single person to be alter the chemical delivery enough to cause damage. Beyond killing someone in the beds with blunt force trauma, no one, including a cryotech, should’ve been able to kill with such ease. We should ask after the tech on shift. What’s his name?” Gavin said, snapping his fingers, “Ah yes, Mr. Eadoré. He should be able to lend more insight into the matter.”

Gavin paused to scratch idly at his goatee, the thought lines deepening once more. “Abby, you don’t think…” His voice trailed off as he shook his head. Gavin flexed his jaw, willing his mind to think up another explanation. When he could not shake the notion, he returned his eyes to hers.

“Abby, I know this case is pretty much closed, but could Second Shift have missed something? I mean to say, something as big as an accomplice?”

The Last Kings of Orion

OLGA moved to sit with crossed legs upon the wooden floor as Hob retrieved a beer from the fridge. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly at his comment about her “father” knowing if she had the beverage at her disposal.

“No upgrades, Hob,” she said, answering his next comment. “Just a few modifications to some of my appearance subroutines. Thanks for noticing though.” She smiled, tilting her head slightly. “You’re not looking bad yourself, especially after being a nice icicle for so long. Grape flavored, I’m assuming? Cherry maybe?”

The avatar bounced her thighs against the floor, her hands resting upon her crossed ankles in a somewhat impatient manner. OLGA watched Hob enjoy the beer, and watched him relax into the digital world that she had created. It brought pleasure to her to see a human feel comfortable within her constructs, and since only the NI-Techs could interface with her in this manner, of all the humans, Hob received the bulk of her efforts.

That notion sent a slight tinge of sadness surging through her circuitry. Since only the NI-Techs possessed the proper modifications to link into the strange realm of the computer, no one else would be able to share her world. Her creator included. Gavin understood her ability on some level, but OLGA knew that it was like describing music to a person that had been deaf their entire life. She longed for that connection with her father, but it would most likely never come to fruition. Even her newer friends, like Abby’s son Michael, could only see her through the digital displays of the Copernicus, and so she would never wholly be able to interact with them. It was like having a pen pal that lived only feet away, but was encased behind an impenetrable wall.

She brought her attention back to Hob, as her mind was beginning to stray into any number of thoughts, writhing like the many heads of a hydra. Normally, she would have loved to spend a few cycles wiling away the time in some now forsaken locale with Hob, but there had been much happening aboard the Copernicus, and OLGA’s curiosity regained her full focus.

“Well, I’d like to stay here for now, Hob. I know what happened during Second Shift, and of course, since I don’t have access to the rest of the ship’s network, I know next to nothing…” OLGA bit her lip, appearing somewhat anxious about her next line of questioning.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I know for sure that Gavin would say no.” OLGA’s large green eyes dropped to the floor, hidden for a moment behind long lashes. “Hob, can you grant me access to the network?” She looked back up to the man, her gaze imploring. “Please, before you say no, I know I can help find out exactly what happened, and hopefully help prevent anything like that from happening in the future. Please, Hob? I swear, it will only take me a few cycles, and then you can close the window, I…”

OLGA realized she was rambling, and hadn’t even given Hob a chance to answer. She closed her mouth, the corners of which teased upward in a nervous smile. Her eyes met his as she waited for him to speak.

The Last Kings of Orion

Hey Justric and Igraine, just wanted to say sorry for holding you both up. I'll have a post up for certain for each of you tomorrow morning. A thousand apologies.