Post by Thadeus "Thrakazog" Stevenson on Dec 23, 2015 15:09:32 GMT
(Open to anyone)
(takes place shortly after the beginning of the war - within a few weeks)
War was certainly horrible. Some financiers might argue that it was good for an economy, or that it was 'good for business', depending on what their business was. But for the city of Lodan, it seemed to be quite the opposite, indeed.
Thrakazog was wandering the docks in his typical garb - a simple, loose-fitting shirt, threadbare pants, a bandana upon his head, and very worn boots. In fact, he'd recently taken to wearing the boots over his shoulder, and simply walking barefoot when he could - the reason was to extend the remaining life of the footwear. Such was the case now, while he paced through the harbor in search of... something. He wasn't precisely sure what.
Part of his indecision was the fact that the shopkeepers were largely just... gone. Most of them had figured out that incoming mortar fire was bad for business, bad for their stock, and bad for their shops or carts. The rest had quickly learned that during times of war, people didn't often spend coin 'shopping'. Certainly, the bars and taverns were occupied with people looking for food or drinking away their fears and concerns. But the farmers who sold their produce, the butchers who sold their meats, and the tinkerers who sold toys were all in hiding - or being conscripted into the military to fight. These were dark times for the merchants of Lodan - and the city's economy was frozen until traders could work safely once more. That was a problem that would eventually worm its way to the palace, as the Queen would find it difficult to pay her military when there was no money to be had from taxes. The longer the war went on, the harder and harder living in Lodan would become.
The other part of Thrakazog's problem was that he was simply, poor. He'd signed on with the Queen of Pirates, and that got him three square meals and a place to sleep. But it didn't pay very well, especially when they couldn't actually do much pirating. The seas weren't safe for any vessel, nevermind pirate ones. And with the military presence being so much more prevalent in the area as the two sides pushed each other back and forth, one never knew if hitting the seas was a safe venture. If the queen's navy didn't shoot at you, then it was the enemy. And their ships weren't ripe with booty to be had either. Guns and canons, certainly, but no money. And even if Captain Caitlin's crews could take down the military's ocean-going vessels, who could they sell the armaments to? The enemy?
Yet, here he was, walking the docks, looking for a gift for his new, dear friend, Lorraine. Thrakazog didn't make many friends, but so far, the woman had been positively delightful to him. They'd started to work together, then attended the Queens' Masquerade, and then they'd both been thrown into this war together. During that time, some of the other crew teased Thrakazog mercilessly, calling Lorraine his 'girlfriend' (though not often to her face). Thrak had never had a girlfriend, so didn't really have an understanding of protocol with one. But he knew enough that he appreciated having her around - no, enjoyed having her around. And, according to his mother, when you had a good friend around, you showed them you appreciated them with a seasonal holiday gift.
But what should he get her? He didn't have money to spend on 'nice' things. He didn't even have enough coin to get a new pair of boots for himself. And while the thought of stealing a gift had crossed his mind, he couldn't bring himself to actually do that to someone else. Plus - if Lorraine asked him where he got it, what could he say? That he'd taken something from someone else, and turned it around to her?
He considered begging for a time, but again, in wartime, beggars were as invisible as the vendors. It simply wasn't safe to be sitting still outside while mortar fire rained down upon you. He thought about crafting something for her - maybe a small clockwork toy. He had enough skill to manage that, but didn't have the components. He would have made her some food, but he wasn't a good cook - he would have obtained some wine or rum, but couldn't afford better than swill. It all started to get rather depressing - to want to show her how much he appreciated that she was his friend, but then to not be able to. He wasn't sure how much time he had before more mortar fire came in, or Caitlin demanded they all sail off to another battle. He sighed and kept walking, hoping that some idea might come to his thick skull.
As he approached the end of the docks, the sun was about to set, and Thrakazog finished his walk to wind up at the very end of the pier, such that he could look out over the water at the sunset. He liked sunsets; they were pretty. But as his eyes scanned the horizon, admiring the pretty colors, he spotted something he hadn't expected to see. Three flags waving at the top of the masts of three ships.
For some reason, the sight made him smile and filled his big heart with hope. They were merchant vessels! Somehow, they must have got past the enemy's lines and blockades. Now, they were bringing much-needed supplies to the people of Lodan!
Did that mean the war was over? Did that mean some semblance of 'normal' was returning to Lodan? He wanted to shout out to them as they drew closer. Now, he could make out figures on the decks - not faces yet, but definitely people. He started to wave at them. He wanted to cheer them.
But then, as if some dark demon was watching him, taunting him... the ships were attacked.
Mortar fire from some distant place began to crash and splash in the water near the vessels, sending shouts of alarm across the seas as the tiny figures scurried for cover. Thrakazog's face went from a mask of delight to one of horror as first one ship was struck and then the next. Fires started, and then he heard distant screams.
That was followed by the sounds of Lodan's military as the shoreline guns opened return fire, keeping the enemy ships at bay. But they were more of a warning than an effective counter attack - a means to draw a line that the enemy would not cross without dire consequences. That, and it allowed a series of longboats to shoot out into the water from the dockyard - rescuers hoping to save the sailors from drowning. It seemed crazy to row out into the waters in the dark, but the inflamed merchant vessels were providing more than enough light for a rescue, and in short order, men and women were being picked out of the sea and ferried back towards the harbor yard.
The third merchant ship, sailed on, as if refusing to be prevented from reaching their destination under their own power. Fire leaped up the sails, devouring the cloth, but a massive cloud of steam emerged from behind it as a hidden engine labored hard to push the burning vessel the rest of the way. It was a dangerous proposition, for as fire engulfed more of the ship, the likelihood that the ship's boiler would overheat and explode became more and more likely. Thrakazog held his breath in helpless anticipation. They had to shut it down! They had to abandon ship!
Whether brave or foolish though, the ship continued chugging onward. It got close enough that Thrakazog did see some crewmen leaping from the sides, seeking the relative safety of the harbor waters before the flames got to them. And then, a resounding BOOM echoed across the water as the ship went up in a fiery ball of wood splinters and... bodies. The sound drowned out Thrakazog's scream.
He wasn't sure exactly what happened next, but before he realized it, he was in the water, swimming towards the disabled tinder. His big body and arms weighed almost nothing in the water, and his muscles quickly carried him across the distance until he came up to a struggling, flailing person. Without thinking, he cupped an arm under the person, and began to swim to shore. Then, with as much thought as he'd given the first time, he was back int he water, swimming out to the wreckage again.
Twice more, he recovered a struggling swimmer, though in these cases, he merely got them to floating debris because the shoreline seemed too far away. Then he heard a gasping cry, followed by a burbling, gurgling sound as an exhausted person went under the water somewhere nearby. Quickly, he dove beneath the surface in a vain attempt to find the poor soul. Ten seconds went by... then ten more, and ten more after that. Almost an equal amount of time followed that before the surface of the water broke and Thrakazog came up, gasping for air himself. But in his meaty hand was the shirt of some poor, woman sailor.
Treading water, Thrakazog got a few breaths of precious air into himself, and then he drew the woman in close to him. His large arms squeezed her, just beneath the ribs, and a jet of water shot out of her mouth. It wasn't enough. He saw a piece of floating wreckage nearby, and swam for that with her in tow, not even really noticing her insignificant weight. Once he got to it, he threw the woman onto the wooden bit, and then kicked like crazy to propel them both towards shore. Every second that passed, he worried - he wasn't fast enough, he wasn't strong enough. This unknown stranger was not going to make it.
He kicked the makeshift raft all the way to a muddy bank, then hauled himself up on top of it. In the dark, it was hard to see her features, and even harder to tell if she was alive. It certainly didn't seem like it. He began to press on her abdomen, trying to compress it and force the water from her lungs. It seemed to be working, but he was practically crying, hoping he would hear that telltale gasp for air that he was waiting for...
(takes place shortly after the beginning of the war - within a few weeks)
War was certainly horrible. Some financiers might argue that it was good for an economy, or that it was 'good for business', depending on what their business was. But for the city of Lodan, it seemed to be quite the opposite, indeed.
Thrakazog was wandering the docks in his typical garb - a simple, loose-fitting shirt, threadbare pants, a bandana upon his head, and very worn boots. In fact, he'd recently taken to wearing the boots over his shoulder, and simply walking barefoot when he could - the reason was to extend the remaining life of the footwear. Such was the case now, while he paced through the harbor in search of... something. He wasn't precisely sure what.
Part of his indecision was the fact that the shopkeepers were largely just... gone. Most of them had figured out that incoming mortar fire was bad for business, bad for their stock, and bad for their shops or carts. The rest had quickly learned that during times of war, people didn't often spend coin 'shopping'. Certainly, the bars and taverns were occupied with people looking for food or drinking away their fears and concerns. But the farmers who sold their produce, the butchers who sold their meats, and the tinkerers who sold toys were all in hiding - or being conscripted into the military to fight. These were dark times for the merchants of Lodan - and the city's economy was frozen until traders could work safely once more. That was a problem that would eventually worm its way to the palace, as the Queen would find it difficult to pay her military when there was no money to be had from taxes. The longer the war went on, the harder and harder living in Lodan would become.
The other part of Thrakazog's problem was that he was simply, poor. He'd signed on with the Queen of Pirates, and that got him three square meals and a place to sleep. But it didn't pay very well, especially when they couldn't actually do much pirating. The seas weren't safe for any vessel, nevermind pirate ones. And with the military presence being so much more prevalent in the area as the two sides pushed each other back and forth, one never knew if hitting the seas was a safe venture. If the queen's navy didn't shoot at you, then it was the enemy. And their ships weren't ripe with booty to be had either. Guns and canons, certainly, but no money. And even if Captain Caitlin's crews could take down the military's ocean-going vessels, who could they sell the armaments to? The enemy?
Yet, here he was, walking the docks, looking for a gift for his new, dear friend, Lorraine. Thrakazog didn't make many friends, but so far, the woman had been positively delightful to him. They'd started to work together, then attended the Queens' Masquerade, and then they'd both been thrown into this war together. During that time, some of the other crew teased Thrakazog mercilessly, calling Lorraine his 'girlfriend' (though not often to her face). Thrak had never had a girlfriend, so didn't really have an understanding of protocol with one. But he knew enough that he appreciated having her around - no, enjoyed having her around. And, according to his mother, when you had a good friend around, you showed them you appreciated them with a seasonal holiday gift.
But what should he get her? He didn't have money to spend on 'nice' things. He didn't even have enough coin to get a new pair of boots for himself. And while the thought of stealing a gift had crossed his mind, he couldn't bring himself to actually do that to someone else. Plus - if Lorraine asked him where he got it, what could he say? That he'd taken something from someone else, and turned it around to her?
He considered begging for a time, but again, in wartime, beggars were as invisible as the vendors. It simply wasn't safe to be sitting still outside while mortar fire rained down upon you. He thought about crafting something for her - maybe a small clockwork toy. He had enough skill to manage that, but didn't have the components. He would have made her some food, but he wasn't a good cook - he would have obtained some wine or rum, but couldn't afford better than swill. It all started to get rather depressing - to want to show her how much he appreciated that she was his friend, but then to not be able to. He wasn't sure how much time he had before more mortar fire came in, or Caitlin demanded they all sail off to another battle. He sighed and kept walking, hoping that some idea might come to his thick skull.
As he approached the end of the docks, the sun was about to set, and Thrakazog finished his walk to wind up at the very end of the pier, such that he could look out over the water at the sunset. He liked sunsets; they were pretty. But as his eyes scanned the horizon, admiring the pretty colors, he spotted something he hadn't expected to see. Three flags waving at the top of the masts of three ships.
For some reason, the sight made him smile and filled his big heart with hope. They were merchant vessels! Somehow, they must have got past the enemy's lines and blockades. Now, they were bringing much-needed supplies to the people of Lodan!
Did that mean the war was over? Did that mean some semblance of 'normal' was returning to Lodan? He wanted to shout out to them as they drew closer. Now, he could make out figures on the decks - not faces yet, but definitely people. He started to wave at them. He wanted to cheer them.
But then, as if some dark demon was watching him, taunting him... the ships were attacked.
Mortar fire from some distant place began to crash and splash in the water near the vessels, sending shouts of alarm across the seas as the tiny figures scurried for cover. Thrakazog's face went from a mask of delight to one of horror as first one ship was struck and then the next. Fires started, and then he heard distant screams.
That was followed by the sounds of Lodan's military as the shoreline guns opened return fire, keeping the enemy ships at bay. But they were more of a warning than an effective counter attack - a means to draw a line that the enemy would not cross without dire consequences. That, and it allowed a series of longboats to shoot out into the water from the dockyard - rescuers hoping to save the sailors from drowning. It seemed crazy to row out into the waters in the dark, but the inflamed merchant vessels were providing more than enough light for a rescue, and in short order, men and women were being picked out of the sea and ferried back towards the harbor yard.
The third merchant ship, sailed on, as if refusing to be prevented from reaching their destination under their own power. Fire leaped up the sails, devouring the cloth, but a massive cloud of steam emerged from behind it as a hidden engine labored hard to push the burning vessel the rest of the way. It was a dangerous proposition, for as fire engulfed more of the ship, the likelihood that the ship's boiler would overheat and explode became more and more likely. Thrakazog held his breath in helpless anticipation. They had to shut it down! They had to abandon ship!
Whether brave or foolish though, the ship continued chugging onward. It got close enough that Thrakazog did see some crewmen leaping from the sides, seeking the relative safety of the harbor waters before the flames got to them. And then, a resounding BOOM echoed across the water as the ship went up in a fiery ball of wood splinters and... bodies. The sound drowned out Thrakazog's scream.
He wasn't sure exactly what happened next, but before he realized it, he was in the water, swimming towards the disabled tinder. His big body and arms weighed almost nothing in the water, and his muscles quickly carried him across the distance until he came up to a struggling, flailing person. Without thinking, he cupped an arm under the person, and began to swim to shore. Then, with as much thought as he'd given the first time, he was back int he water, swimming out to the wreckage again.
Twice more, he recovered a struggling swimmer, though in these cases, he merely got them to floating debris because the shoreline seemed too far away. Then he heard a gasping cry, followed by a burbling, gurgling sound as an exhausted person went under the water somewhere nearby. Quickly, he dove beneath the surface in a vain attempt to find the poor soul. Ten seconds went by... then ten more, and ten more after that. Almost an equal amount of time followed that before the surface of the water broke and Thrakazog came up, gasping for air himself. But in his meaty hand was the shirt of some poor, woman sailor.
Treading water, Thrakazog got a few breaths of precious air into himself, and then he drew the woman in close to him. His large arms squeezed her, just beneath the ribs, and a jet of water shot out of her mouth. It wasn't enough. He saw a piece of floating wreckage nearby, and swam for that with her in tow, not even really noticing her insignificant weight. Once he got to it, he threw the woman onto the wooden bit, and then kicked like crazy to propel them both towards shore. Every second that passed, he worried - he wasn't fast enough, he wasn't strong enough. This unknown stranger was not going to make it.
He kicked the makeshift raft all the way to a muddy bank, then hauled himself up on top of it. In the dark, it was hard to see her features, and even harder to tell if she was alive. It certainly didn't seem like it. He began to press on her abdomen, trying to compress it and force the water from her lungs. It seemed to be working, but he was practically crying, hoping he would hear that telltale gasp for air that he was waiting for...