TaintedStarted by Rowan Hale at Nov 26, 2019 8:01 pm
Dophn 17, 1201 AB
Rowan found that sometimes she had difficulty understanding Kyfen's accent, but she doesn't have time to focus on that. Instead, she half drags Kyfen to a space that looks like it would be safe for him, mindful not to let her skin touch his. Once in the brush, Rowan keeps quiet, waiting to see if anyone else is going to show up. No more bolts are fired and there is no one in sight, igniting her worries anew.
She keeps her dagger out though, almost guarding Kyfen in his vulnerable state. Under different circumstances, it would be cute.
The lycan stirred grumpily as Rowan dragged him across the rocky shore into cover. His muzzle curled in his annoyance of some unseen irritation, "Pushyfoot'n dund'ras*es..wai'in' 'til I shleep... Eat'a wrinkle'd c**k..." he mumbled through a deep growl. He wriggled lamely while his fur picked up sand and small stones, until finally his drowsy eyes opened. As much as he attempted to struggle fully, he was exhausted and slow. The exertion and control a real fight required was long gone from him, so he ceased his movements. "Heafy heart'd, buzzud-f**kers." His deep, multiocular purples finally focus enough to identify Roward standing near him. With a knife.
"Oh... I's you.." He burped a huff of disappointment, "Figures.." he mumbled more quietly to himself. "Fin'shin' m' off, are you, Cap?" Kyfen snarled hoarsely, to the poisonous woman.
Rowan listens to Kyfen blather on in his drunken, semi-conscious state. She continues to gaze around for threats, keeping her dagger in her hand as she tries to protect Kyfen. When he snaps out of it long enough to accuse her of finishing him off, she rolls her eyes. For the first time since meeting Kyfen, she begins to wonder if earning his friendship is a worthy pursuit.
"Be still," she whispers, blue eyes darting around to study the scenery. "Someone is shooting at us, and you're drunk. I had to drag you out of the way. The fact that you think I'd injure you astounds me. I'm trying to protect you." Then she spies him, the figure in the distance. He appears to be retreating, and Rowan tries to commit his visage to memory. Red hair. Beard. Dressed in all black. Got it. When he retreats completely, Rowan stands up and helps Kyfen to his feet, mindful not to touch her skin to his.
"I don't know if that guy was shooting at me or shooting at you, but you may want to rethink getting drunk for the foreseeable future. You mind wind up with a bolt in your neck." Rowan frowns as the words leave her mouth, looking into Kyfen's eyes. "I don't want you to get hurt. I don't know what else to say." The captain sheathes her dagger at her hip so that she can grab it easily if needed.
"I'm headed back to my ship. Let me know when you decide whether you want to join up or not." The words are somber, and soon she is walking back toward the docks whether Kyfen follows or not.
"The fact that you think I'd injure you astounds me. I'm trying to protect you." He heard her state in rebuttal.
"You ain't th'one wakin' up wiff a woman shtand'n o'er you hol'in' a dagg'r." He struggled into an upright position, "Spesh'ly since y'.." he paused and stared at her for a moment before shaking his furry head, "F'get it.."
"I don't know if that guy was shooting at me or shooting at you, but you may want to rethink getting drunk for the foreseeable future. You might wind up with a bolt in your neck." Rowan chided.
"Wiff all due respec.. Y'ain't ma mother eith'r, Cap." He squinted at her, then turned around slowly, unsteadily. The lycan's sights scanned the ground in search for his missing drink. The gray skies began spray small droplets on the island, coating his sand-clotted fur with little beads of water. Kyfen grumbled something to the sky about its impatience. The sky grumbled back and fanned the ground to scold him for his grumpy behavior. The lycan barked furiously back, "I'ain't gonna ta'e long! Hol'yer piss a li'l long'r you groany sh**!"
Rowan waves Kyfen off as he continues to prattle on belligerently, done for the day. As the skies darken and the promise of rain becomes tangible, Rowan quickens her pace toward the docks hoping to outrun the storm. She's quick on her feet, but not faster than nature, and soon it begins to pour down rain, leaving her soaked to the bone as she moves up the gangplank of The Howling Gale. A spot of red catches her eye then, and she looks down long enough to watch a ginger man with a beard move up the gangplank of Donovan's ship. The bastard even has the guts to wink at her, which she nearly misses as she bustles into her cabin.
Her first order of business is to change into something dry, and without really looking around her cabin any, she strips out of her wet clothes and into something warmer. She leaves the other clothes to dry where she hangs them.
The ship rocks back and forth as thunder booms and lightning strikes, and the ship captain peers out of a window at the roiling tide as she watches the storm do as it will.
The storm beat wrathfully on the island, forcing many of its inhabitants to shelter. The sky was overcast with an early night-like darkness, and the wind howled loudly, threatening the little island's land-goers as it passed over. It wouldn't be over until the next day.
Many people woke up to broken windows and scattered debris from loose objects like rocks, bottles, and pieces of wood, but most people knew the storm was coming and prepared ahead of time. Few ships sustained concerning damage. The flooding would go down eventually.
It was a miracle that none of the seafolk arose from the waters to pillage during the storm, but there were people missing--just a few. A couple people seen drunk before the storm, presumed to have taken cover or gotten caught in it. Most folks of the island, now, were checking property and taking head counts. If nothing was wrong, some would continue business as normal, while others focused on fixing the damage or searching for the missing.
Donovan and his crew were some of those doing the latter. His ship wasn't harmed by the storm, but some of his crew were MIA.
Having recovered from his unfortunately sudden illness, the captain was back on his feet, directing his men. Some joked about that fact that a woman mad him sh** himself, but the jokers weren't stupid enough to say it in his hearing range.
The sore captain sent out five of his crew to search the island for the missing heads while he finished preparing for their next excursion. "We sail at noon--with or without them," he informed the group plainly before they set out.
Rowan had a fitful slumber. While some members of the crew said sleeping in a storm was peaceful, she was not one hundred percent accustomed to a life on the sea yet. She'd been with the crew for about a year and a half, and her life had changed ultimately for the better. Rowan had become a captain, gained a strange sense of family with her crew, and even took care of Billy. He was practically her son and she knew he felt the same way. So even now, as the storm tossed the ship to and fro, Rowan remained in bed, waiting for the time to exit her cabin to arrive. It didn't until the next day.
There was no damage to the ship. Rowan was surprised at this, but it was good news that alleviated some of her worries. Everyone was accounted for except one of the gunners, and he turned up looking like he'd had one hell of a night. With her crew and ship in tact, Rowan inhaled deeply and let out the long breath she had been holding since the night before.
"Alright men! I still have the map that will supposedly lead us to treasure to the far south of Bleakwater Cove. It's a tiny dot of an island with an underground cavern supposedly holding great treasure. Treasure may be there or it may just be a rumor. It could be that there once was treasure and now there isn't. Today, we are sailing out that direction and we're going to find out for sure." Rowan hands the map to the navigator and he moves up to the helm to work with the pilot. The rest of the crew draws up the gangplank and adjusts the sails to pull out of port.
Three men, not from the poisonous captain's crew, hurried up the gangplank but kept off the ship. One man, elvish and slender, with pointed ears and some hints of light-blue scales against his neck and arms, called out to Rowan with a booming voice.
He would call once or twice to get her attention.
"Captain Hale! Think you can help us out? We're missin' a few men," he began. If the lady captain listened, he'd continue. "A fat oaf with white hair and a gimpy leg, a red-headed twiggy scoundrel, and pig-faced man. You seen 'em? Gotta find the twits 'fore we set off."
The other two man with him, shifted anxiously, ready to run off somewhere. They scanned the faces of her crewmen, and the dock workers with some anticipation in their gazes. One of them whispered in the main speakers ear.
"I know, I know. We'll handle it alright??" the half-elf grumbled back to the impatient whisperer.
Rowan listened to Donovan's men, but she was still very much in the moment. A night of fitful slumber gave her plenty of time to consider that someone, likely from Donovan's ship, tried to kill her. As such, she's not feeling particularly chatty or helpful. Her hair is down and shines around her shoulders as glossy blue-black as a raven's feather, and she sweeps it up into a giant bun on her head to keep it from touching anyone as she travels the length of her ship.
"I apologize, gentlemen, but I'm unable to help at the moment. You see, last evening, I was attacked by a man with a crossbow. I'm not feeling particularly chummy after that encounter, as you can surely understand..."
Her voice has as finality to it, an air of distrust, and her eyes glare narrowly toward Donovan's crew.
"We're about to set sail, but I hope you find your crew mates. I hate that they are lost." Her men finish pulling up the gangplank and they slowly pull out of port. Rowan waves briefly to the men she was talking to before being smuggled to the side by one of her gunners.
"Did you really get attacked yesterday?" The woman asks.
"Yep. Preeetttyyy sure it was by one of those lunkheads. Either way, I need to be more careful in the future. Do me a favor and tell the men to watch their backs as well. I don't want to take any chances."
After that, Rowan heads up to the helm to watch the ship finally sail out into the open sea, the salt on the air making her smile. This was as close to home as it got for her.
The ship is gone for three days and three nights, but returns to Bleakwater Cove early on the fourth day. Rowan is nowhere to be seen, and her crew soon bustle off to do whatever they like. Most of them sleep. Some of them prowl the island looking for men, women, or both. Some go for a drink despite the hour, and some are content to bum around on the ship. Either way, everyone is occupied and everyone looks pleased. Whatever they got into, it was good.
The men didn't seem completely surprised that she wasn't willing to help, but they showed some essence of shock when she blamed them for a crossbow assassination attempt.
"Who did that?" Two of them asked at once, but Rowan wanted nothing to do with them.
In the end, the men returned with none of the three missing crewmates, and Donovan, as promised, sailed off without them. They were gone for a while--over a week. But when they returned, they had a good deal of wear on the ship. Luckily, it still stayed afloat. The crew looked better than their ship, dressed in old bloodied clothing and sustaining some wounds. For those still able, they hauled in a great deal of goods and a good few hostages. Donovan himself and most of his crew were injured but not dead. A few of his men were not so lucky, but he dealt with the bodies at sea.
While the pirates of The Bleeding Siren busily emptied their ship of hostages/slaves and supplies they could sell on the island, a familiar voice called up to them. Some of the men noticed who it belonged to and called him back in greeting--it was the missing redhead. Behind him were his two mates, all who were sought for before the Siren set off. Captain Archer spoke not a single word to them, passing them by without a glance. The rest of his crew got the memo from seeing this and shuffled nervously back to work.
"C'mon, Capt'n. Do'n' be li'e tha'." The fiery-haired man pleaded with a nervous smile, throwing out his arms. "Too much t' drin'. I' won' happ'n ag'in'. I swea'!"
The man continued to try and coax the captain's attention for forgiveness to the point where the other two tried to pull the frustrated him away from his persistent attempts. "That's enough, mate."
"No, i' ain'! Fo' yea's, I been work'n fo' you! I piss one ou' an' now you pret'en' I ain't he'e?! S'at i'?!"
"Let off, mate." "Dropit, man, it's too late."
"F**k you, too, yeh!" The now infuriated ex-crewmate barked.
Donovan continued on with his duties, sorting through the pirated weapon crates while the angry one howled at him, relentlessly. It took some time, but eventually he found what he wanted out of the supplies. Some of his crew realized what was happening, and in a domino effect, more of them began to pause their duties to witness it. Some of the dockworkers began to stare at the source of the oddly thickened silence from the freshly landed pirates.
"...'hit Capt'n you are! Tha' how you handle ya crew?! Incom'tent f**koff!.."
*chack* Came a sound from Donovan, his back turned to the swearing sailor.
"..hope you rot yo'r c**k off!" The two ex-pirates trying to restrain him were much further away now.
Donovan turned around and raised the crossbow, promptly releasing the trigger before the mouthy redhead had time to react to it. The bolt flug right into his belly. The man screamed and dropped like lead onto the floor, curled over in wailing, wretching agony.
Donovan casually loaded another bolt.
"Does anyone else object to the removal of these insubordinates from my crew?" the Captain boomed to his crew, and the two ex-crewmen still standing, with an eery calm in his tone. He looked around and waited.