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CursedEdrin

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Joined: Aug 27, 2020
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There's a lot of wonderful art to show on this forum, what hasn't been erased by TinyPic's untimely demise, but I happened to notice that the description here mentioned writing. I figured with such an absence, it might be fun to trade stories of things that happen to us in the Puzzling Seas and spice 'em up with that rum-soaked charm, maybe bring us a bit closer if possible and draw out that non-drawing talent.

With that out of the way, and hoping others join in to make this thread one to last ages with the legends we tell...

Brigands vs. the Unbroken
'Twas a normal day of jobbing about, joining the ship of a man within me crew I'd not ever seen a'fore. They'd just left a battle and invited me aboard from just a short row away where I could sidle into a hole in the hull and fix 'er up as I came in. After a swift bout of carpentry, I deigned to come upside and meet the man face to face.

There'd been a sole, silent jobber among the swabbies, tangled within rigging as one of the automated gits fell overboard in a booched spin of the sails. Can't remember his name, and it's a shame, but I won't forget that sunken in patch upon his eye as he gazed from the ropes and simply pointed out to the sea as it bubbled in a most peculiar manner.

He came upon us in a rush of the tide, that menace Admiral Finius, rising from the depths with a seaweed-encrusted Dhow at his command. We couldn't even react in time as he bashed us aside and filled the prow with his broadsides in a swift grapple with nary but a reactionary grapeshot from our leading officer to help us. The battle was immediately fierce and far from our favor, their seven to our four and the sole swabbie left aboard.

It shames me to say that despite knocking one of the fish-man's crew into one of our spare cargo crates, I'd been one of our first to fall. From my place on the deck, though, I'd been able to witness a miracle; that eyepatched stranger, amidst the chaos, his presence was commanding and terrifying as he tore through with naught but that one swabbie aside him the whole while. Even once the fresh-faced git fell, this pirate stood his ground.

It'd been a fair three versus his one at that point, and with the turbulent waves as me witness he was a beast terrifying as any there'd been. Stalwart he fought as our assailants broke upon him until naught but the scaled king remained. They met at once, mallet and chain clanking upon each other in tandem as bilge began to seep onto the upper boards. Finius ne'er had a prayer of a chance, however, as with a single grunt and a mighty tug of the hammer, our happenstance champion disarmed the regal trout.

The darned fish had naught to his name at the time of his ransom, shame to admit, but the brutality of his loss shook what he had right out of the brigand's bones without question. We'd won twice more against the weaker fare until porting at the cosmopolitan center of Gull, old Admiral Isle. The unbreakable champion gave us but a silent thanks for the sailing with us, and moved to be lost among the crowds.

Ye know who ye are, out there, with your sunken patch. Us lads within Blades 'n Roses thank ye for the downright miracle in motion you'd let us witness this day.

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