Captain Aleyn straightens her tricorn, shoving a brace of pistol into her sword belt and smoothing her uniform as she heads from her cabin. She has failed her nation and her duty, but at the least... she could die with honor.
The gun-deck on the frigate was strangely quiet, moonlight filtering through gaps in the gun-ports as she moved through her ship in the dark. Hammocks hang from the beams, crate and rope lie stacked, yet it did not impede her path, for it was her ship, and she knew it like an extension of her being.
Once again, she wondered how it had come to this, as she moved up to the spar deck, stars bursting into lift as the sails lied limp as they had been for the last week. Their ship had lost the Navigator's blessing, her first mate had preached, and in unspoken accusation, so had she. This is how it had been, ever since their scouting party had found that damn ruin.Â
The only sound on the deck was that of soft prayer, the entire crew arrayed kneeling before the forecastle. Her first mate, the man she had trusted like a brother, stood above, leading them. "Oh Great Navigator! We beseech you, return your blessing to us!"
"Mr Darby" She tries to keep her voice calm, "Why are the men not at their watch?"
The Hyur that was once her first mate looks up, "The Navigator no longer blesses you, captain. Your services are no longer needed."
"Like hell." The fur rises on her tail as none of the crew rise to her defence, "The Navigator doesn't rule here." She slides out a pistol and points it at him, ears pressing back as she bares her teeth in a snarl, "I do, and I charge you with Mutiny, Mr Darby. The punishment is death."
She cocks the pistol's hammer, the crew eerily motionless around her, "Any last words?"
"Yes. We've known each other a long time Captain. I had hoped you would see the error of your ways." He turns away from her, "Crew, dispose of this Heretic."
"Dispose of this!" She fires as the crew erupts around her. A hand nudges the barrel, sending the shot wide. Then her cutlass is out, glittering in the moonlight as her former crew comes at her like animals. "Aye, come 'en you scurvy whore'sons." Blood and steel flash...
Minutes later the crew looks stunned at the twisted figure of their captain. She had taken a full dozen men down with her, her body riddled with sword and pistol wounds, tail wet with her blood. They look at each other, doubt flashing between their eyes, when, like a spell being broken the canvas above snaps taut. Wind fills the sails, and the crew feels the ship lurch into motion.
"The Navigator is pleased with our sacrifice." Darby calls out, something cold and round glinting in an outstretched hand, "You have done well, men."
With that, their doubt is crushed, and the men kneel down before their savior.
The gun-deck on the frigate was strangely quiet, moonlight filtering through gaps in the gun-ports as she moved through her ship in the dark. Hammocks hang from the beams, crate and rope lie stacked, yet it did not impede her path, for it was her ship, and she knew it like an extension of her being.
Once again, she wondered how it had come to this, as she moved up to the spar deck, stars bursting into lift as the sails lied limp as they had been for the last week. Their ship had lost the Navigator's blessing, her first mate had preached, and in unspoken accusation, so had she. This is how it had been, ever since their scouting party had found that damn ruin.Â
The only sound on the deck was that of soft prayer, the entire crew arrayed kneeling before the forecastle. Her first mate, the man she had trusted like a brother, stood above, leading them. "Oh Great Navigator! We beseech you, return your blessing to us!"
"Mr Darby" She tries to keep her voice calm, "Why are the men not at their watch?"
The Hyur that was once her first mate looks up, "The Navigator no longer blesses you, captain. Your services are no longer needed."
"Like hell." The fur rises on her tail as none of the crew rise to her defence, "The Navigator doesn't rule here." She slides out a pistol and points it at him, ears pressing back as she bares her teeth in a snarl, "I do, and I charge you with Mutiny, Mr Darby. The punishment is death."
She cocks the pistol's hammer, the crew eerily motionless around her, "Any last words?"
"Yes. We've known each other a long time Captain. I had hoped you would see the error of your ways." He turns away from her, "Crew, dispose of this Heretic."
"Dispose of this!" She fires as the crew erupts around her. A hand nudges the barrel, sending the shot wide. Then her cutlass is out, glittering in the moonlight as her former crew comes at her like animals. "Aye, come 'en you scurvy whore'sons." Blood and steel flash...
Minutes later the crew looks stunned at the twisted figure of their captain. She had taken a full dozen men down with her, her body riddled with sword and pistol wounds, tail wet with her blood. They look at each other, doubt flashing between their eyes, when, like a spell being broken the canvas above snaps taut. Wind fills the sails, and the crew feels the ship lurch into motion.
"The Navigator is pleased with our sacrifice." Darby calls out, something cold and round glinting in an outstretched hand, "You have done well, men."
With that, their doubt is crushed, and the men kneel down before their savior.