Post by Hook on Mar 12, 2020 18:39:23 GMT
(February 1st! Open to all Unaffiliated in the area ((at their own risk)) and time any Cursed Thorns!)
Over the foam-scudded seas of the Barbaric Archipelago sailed the Jolly Roger. It was good to feel the sea spray, but the pirate vessel certainly didn’t rest on the waters. It’s grand sails and masts cast a shadow bigger than most of dragons that frequented the skies above the ocean.
At her quarterdeck, leaning upon his rapier as a gentleman would an expensive cane, stood a tall figure. His lordly, blood-colored coat joined the luxurious feathered hat, flapping in the wild winds. The hand that did not grip his sword ended in a vicious hook which slowly trailed the carvings on the rail.
Captain James Hook’s eyes pinned each rock formation on the horizon below in turn. They were small and light as the skies after a storm, but they were cunning. Their light was in search of something, scraping over each shape in the distance like a bird of prey picking clean bones.
Blast this Merged World. Wasn’t it enough that he and his scurvy crew had combed every accursed inch of an island of braves and monsters, harried by crocodiles and impudent children? And now he would search an entire continent of the same magical kind, bigger, and apparently just as inclined to maliciously hide a certain flying brat.
A cruel smile, the kind that frightened babies and cutthroats alike, twirled the man’s mustaches.
No matter. He could hear the step of his new crew—perhaps—filing onto the deck now. He was the Cursed Thorns’ naval commander. Quite right, too. Yes, he had to train new lubbers. But they were that many more eyes at his disposal to search for Pan.
Swinging around with the powerful weight of a turning boom, Hook stalked toward the main deck, looking down at those assembled. This was the best that horned wench could give him?
”Stand tall, me hearties!” Blared the Englishman, his voice fading into a cunning drawl with the timing of his condescendingly drooped eyelids. ”So...who among you thinks you have the fortitude, the blackness of soul, to follow Captain James Hook?”
As he spoke, Hook slowly drew his hooked hand from behind his back, producing a rolled contract in the curve of his dangerous appendage. He prowled slowly, dignified, down the steps to pace before the line of recruits. ”Those who dare...may sign here, and be apart of the crew of the famed Jolly Roger, terror of the sea and skies.”
Quickly as he’d extended it the Captain jerked the page out of reach. ”Ah ah! Not so hasty. You see, me ship only has so much room. ‘Tis a privilege to sail upon it. On today’s scouting voyage, you...” Here the man’s tone suddenly changed to a dangerous, drawling snarl, and his hook became free to swipe when he slipped the contract back into the folds of his coat. ”...scurvy lubbers will prove to your Captain your worth, first! The man—or wench, if she be—to sight the first dragon in this land and call it out will earn his keep. The rest may show themselves worthy in our efforts to capture the beastie for the purposes of the Cursed Thorns.”
Over the foam-scudded seas of the Barbaric Archipelago sailed the Jolly Roger. It was good to feel the sea spray, but the pirate vessel certainly didn’t rest on the waters. It’s grand sails and masts cast a shadow bigger than most of dragons that frequented the skies above the ocean.
At her quarterdeck, leaning upon his rapier as a gentleman would an expensive cane, stood a tall figure. His lordly, blood-colored coat joined the luxurious feathered hat, flapping in the wild winds. The hand that did not grip his sword ended in a vicious hook which slowly trailed the carvings on the rail.
Captain James Hook’s eyes pinned each rock formation on the horizon below in turn. They were small and light as the skies after a storm, but they were cunning. Their light was in search of something, scraping over each shape in the distance like a bird of prey picking clean bones.
Blast this Merged World. Wasn’t it enough that he and his scurvy crew had combed every accursed inch of an island of braves and monsters, harried by crocodiles and impudent children? And now he would search an entire continent of the same magical kind, bigger, and apparently just as inclined to maliciously hide a certain flying brat.
A cruel smile, the kind that frightened babies and cutthroats alike, twirled the man’s mustaches.
No matter. He could hear the step of his new crew—perhaps—filing onto the deck now. He was the Cursed Thorns’ naval commander. Quite right, too. Yes, he had to train new lubbers. But they were that many more eyes at his disposal to search for Pan.
Swinging around with the powerful weight of a turning boom, Hook stalked toward the main deck, looking down at those assembled. This was the best that horned wench could give him?
”Stand tall, me hearties!” Blared the Englishman, his voice fading into a cunning drawl with the timing of his condescendingly drooped eyelids. ”So...who among you thinks you have the fortitude, the blackness of soul, to follow Captain James Hook?”
As he spoke, Hook slowly drew his hooked hand from behind his back, producing a rolled contract in the curve of his dangerous appendage. He prowled slowly, dignified, down the steps to pace before the line of recruits. ”Those who dare...may sign here, and be apart of the crew of the famed Jolly Roger, terror of the sea and skies.”
Quickly as he’d extended it the Captain jerked the page out of reach. ”Ah ah! Not so hasty. You see, me ship only has so much room. ‘Tis a privilege to sail upon it. On today’s scouting voyage, you...” Here the man’s tone suddenly changed to a dangerous, drawling snarl, and his hook became free to swipe when he slipped the contract back into the folds of his coat. ”...scurvy lubbers will prove to your Captain your worth, first! The man—or wench, if she be—to sight the first dragon in this land and call it out will earn his keep. The rest may show themselves worthy in our efforts to capture the beastie for the purposes of the Cursed Thorns.”
