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Jackal-like, the two brigs had been stalking the merchant ship for three nights now. It had taken that long for the ship to lose the three smaller gunships it had taken on as escourts to a resupply at Portobello. The Onda de Oro was making the rest of the her run to Cartagena alone, normally a safe stretch of water. Tonight it was time to strike. The moon was a cold sliver of silver in the midnight sky when the Sanguine Dream and the Red Tide launched their surprise attack. The to ships closed within cannon range before the sentries on the Onda spotted the unlit pirate brigs. Loaded with chain shot, the brigs fired their cannons simultanously, bothing having angled slightly away from each other, catching the treasure laden merchant ship in a devastating crossfire. Sails shredded, two of the Onda three masts cracked, falling onto the deck and crippling the ship. The pirates closed in, the undead of each brig feeling their hunger stirring as the immenent rush of combat drew near. On the Red Tide, Black Betty watched, grim and silent, as her ship drew nearer and nearer. Captain Shark and his crew would gain control of the crippled gally, it was the Tide's job to secure the crew. The small woman turned from the looming ship and her hard, dark eyes bored into each of the kindred assembled before her, the mortal crew not already occupied with reading the tide for boarding assembled behind the vampires. Kveldulf, the ancient ventrue viking, a warrior to be reckoned with. Renee, the daeva who cast off the bonds of both mortal and immortal slavery. Maganda, a ventrue wielding twin swords who's story mirrored Betty's own. Pietro, a mekhet, untested in battle but with a potential that rivaled the others. These four, along with Betty herself, would be responsible for rebuilding the larders of the two ships. "The time approaches," her voice is melodic and high pitched with a heavy Spainish accent, the music in her speech seems at odds with the ferocious figure she cuts in battle. "our holds are empty and starvation looms close if we do not accomplish our mission. The Dream is just as low and it has been too long since our last conquest. Kill as few as possible, those you do, make it... memorable. Fear is our ally in this attack, the quicker they surrender, the more we can feed!" For Betty, that was what counted as a long, inspiring speech. She prefered to let her actions inspire loyalty, not her words, Captain Shark, for all his horriffic appearnce, was the wordsmith of the two captains. With an experienced eye, Betty judges the distance between the Tide and the Onda, dark figures can be seen scuttling across the merchant's deck and the crack of a musket, still hopelessly out of range, breaks the night. "NOW!," she barks, the anticipation of violenve giving her eyes a fiendish glow. A dozen grappling hooks take flight from the Tide and find purchase on the enemy ship. More ropes sail from the Tide's rigging, pirates preparing to swing down from the masts. "For the Red Tide," Betty roars. "For Captain Shark! For the BLOOD!" It was time to begin. Okay, finally up and rolling, apologies for typos and mispellings, no spell check on the work computer. In your first post, include a link to your character sheet. This first scene is all about you getting your hero moment. Don't worry about rolling any dice, your character wins as easily or as difficultly as you want. Establish their skills, their style of fighting, what sort of compassion, if any they have for their enemies. There is no Masquerade on the seas revel in your monstrosity. Or don't, choice is yours. Special Rules: I hand out beats like they're going out of style. You can spend a beat to auto succeed on a single roll or to take narrative control of a single post, setting up things beneficial to your character or the group. Each beat spent gains a single success or creates one benficial bonus for the scene. You can spend up to 5 beats (1XP) to gain an exceptional success. GAINING XP: At the end of every night, you can cash in your beats. 5 beats = 1 xp. The point of XP is awarded to ALL the players. So if everyone cashes in 5 beats, instead of each player getting 1 XP, each player gets 4XP! SPENDING XP: Each night you cna increase 1 dot of a discipline, 1 dot of an attribute, 1 dot in each of the three skill categories or one dot of however many merits you like. If a Merit is only available in a multidot rating, you can purchase all those dots at once. Blood Potency may only be increased after speaking with me, unless your character has been commiting diablerie, which, in this chronicle, is a legitmate option. Soonmot fucked around with this message at 16:25 on Nov 13, 2014 |
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Nov 8, 2014 09:19
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BEATS/XP Kveldulf: 3/0 Renee: 2/0 Maganda: 3/0 Pietro: 2/0 Current Mission -Find the map! ----Need a strange coin from Johann Van der Veene --------Infiltrate or Attack or Give Up Pietro? --------Meet Nsoah, Mekhet revolutionary, in the Jungle. --------Meet Morgan Visser, Gangrel merchant in the the City Soonmot fucked around with this message at 08:07 on Dec 8, 2014 |
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Nov 8, 2014 09:20
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 Renee Francoise Ah restraint; such an unfortunate necessity. She will have to keep her beast on it's leash, at least to start. She has no need for hooks and ropes. Just a short running start into a flying leap across the expanse of inky blackness between ships. She lands mid-way through one of the fallen masts with a snap. Precisely where she'd intended. With little exertion she sinks her fingers into the splintered wood, coming away with a club as thick as her chest and twice as long. One nearby sailor gets in in his head to fire his pistol at her, and has his legs crushed by 250 pounds of wood for his trouble. He won't be walking again, but Fehed can keep him technically alive. She surveys the deck for someone to make an example of. It seems that the first sailor has a friend who is drawing his sword. He'll do. She loosens her leash with a simple command, kill him, and the beast takes care of the rest. A careless thrust is easily sidestepped, and her free hand latched onto the poor man's skull. She can feel the tell-tale pop as the juices of his eyeball run down her thumb. His screams only last for a moment before she's torn his throat open with her fangs, and the beast takes several seconds to savor the taste. By the time she comes back to herself, the others have already started to board. She turns to the handful of men who had been transfixed with horror at the sight of her feeding, and flashes a toothy, blood-soaked grin. “¿Quién es siguiente?”
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Nov 9, 2014 18:17
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 http://sheetgen.dalines.net/sheet/36906 Maganda watches as Renee runs past, vaulting over the ship's railing and landing on the deck of the Onda. She takes hold of her rope and runs, swinging over the dark water churning beneath the ships and skidding to a halt on the deck. There is an Onda sailor within sword's reach, but Maganda does not draw her kalis, simply puts her hand to the hilt. The man with whom she has locked eyes stares at her, frozen, waiting. Her Beast growls, and Maganda smiles. A tragedy that she must rein it in for the time being, but the holds must be restocked. "Bludgeon your crewmates." The man turns, slowly, and charges at the sailor closest to him, bringing down the pommel of his sword onto the man's head. The man does not fall, but staggers into another sailor. One of the Onda's men approaches, sword drawn. Maganda smiles, but still does not draw. "Kill your captain." He vanishes into the swarm of struggling bodies. Maganda is confident that he will do her bidding and murder the head of the ship, if the pirates have not yet done the job. And if he does not, well, her goal this night is chaos and diversion, not simple bloodshed. Alien Sex Manual fucked around with this message at 16:55 on Nov 11, 2014 |
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Nov 10, 2014 20:51
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 Sheet. Kveldulf Sigurdsson Maganda and Renee can be first over the side. That does not concern Kveldulf. They are smaller, more agile... And he has other plans to set in motion before he leaps aboard the Onda. With a wave of his hand, he sets the first part in motion. Haroun fires his musket from the tops. He's not aiming to kill, but he is aiming for the Onda's captain. The ball punches through the canvas and linen of the old seadog's shirts, gut-shotting him, letting him bleed and scream. There is no sight more frightening to a herd than to see the leader disabled - not killed; killed encourages anger, revenge, fury. But screaming as he bleeds, unable to give orders, to do anything but draw his men's attention? That induces fear. It breaks morale. Another wave of the hand as he clambours onto the gunwale. Haroun reloads, but before he does, he hurls a small bundle onto the other ship. Cloth unfurls with a screaming and a chittering; the half-eaten remains of a small spider monkey tearing from its bonds. A familiar, teeth elongated, eyes red. A wretched thing, slowly rotting, made into a mockery of a living beast by the Blood, a pale imitation of Bobo. It knows its purpose - it remembers what was whispered in its ear. It darts and rolls along the deck as Kveldulf makes the leap, thudding heavily onto the gunwale of the Onda, pulling himself over. The captain's screams take on a new character as the wretched little thing reaches him. Long, sharp teeth tear at tender skin, delicate membranes, soft, defenseless eyes. Tiny clawed hands gouge at cheeks, tear out teeth, rip off chunks of scalp, hunks of ear. Seeing their captain bleed was the entree to the terror of seeing his face eaten by a small, half-skeletal hell-creature. Those not sufficiently focused on their fight lose morale. Others, the wiser, will know only after they are beaten what was done to their man. The captain might even live long enough to be seen as terrible testament to the cruelty of their new owners. Knowledge of this will keep them in line below the decks - to be fed on is nothing, when such horrors lie in wait for those who would even consider raising a finger in revolt. But Kveldulf is still, at his heart, a viking. He does not allow the monkey to do all the work. He levels his axe-pistol at a sailor, fires it. No luck, but then, he barely understands firearms. He knows they can kill at a distance, he likes the sound they make, the sudden flash. It, like the monkey, is a tool of terror. In the dark of the attack, it illuminates him for a fearful moment: Hair deliberately wild, spiked and tangled out with blood and flour, a shield that, though an anachronism, holds its own terror: A human face, carefully flayed and preserved, tacked to the centre. His axe flashes as he moves to the heaviest fighting, blocking blows from cutlasses, boarding axes, belaying pins with that same shield, answering them with his own. He tries not to kill, but it is so hard not to. Humans are... Soft. They die so easily. He has almost forgotten what it was like to fear death from an axe, and so many of his blows land heavier than he means. He means only to damage an arm; instead, he cuts it in half. He means only to knock a man down with the rim of his shield; instead, he fractures their eye sockets, bursts one of them, pops the other out. Soft. Weak. He pauses in the fighting, here and there, to check on the others. Not Maganda, not Renee - not really. They can handle themselves. But Pietro? Pietro is so new. He is soft as well. He will die easily as well. And he was no fighter as a mortal. During one of these pauses, he realizes something. The captain's screaming has stopped, but more than that. The monkey is silent. When he reaches the quarterdeck, he will discover why. In the chaos, a madman of a sailor has attacked his own captain. In the process, he has bludgeoned the wretched revenant to death for being in the way. I believe terror was the order of the day, afterall. It's a fairly broad post, let me know if you need me to dial it back in terms of ground covered. Loomer fucked around with this message at 17:18 on Nov 11, 2014 |
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Nov 11, 2014 16:21
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 Pietro Tremonti The young vampire was nervous. As the hooks pulled the Onda de Oro closer to the Red Tide, he apprehensively tugged at his short brown beard. Pietro had never been in a real fight before. Swordplay was a form of recreation and preparation, but the idea of jumping onto another ship with the idea of eating its crew was still difficult for him to grip. Renee and Maganda leaped in with the vanguard, carving into the other ship's crew with such effortless grace, like they had been born for it. Pietro's humanity was repulsed by the bloodshed his eyes drank in, but the Beast inside him had very different feelings. It was hungry, ravenously so, and it wanted a taste of that bloodshed. Pietro sighed and removed his cap, placing it safely on the Tide's deck with his cloak. He looked up at the moon and did his best to release his humanity before hopping onto the increasingly bloody deck of the Onda. The smell of powder, the sounds of steel against steel, gunshot, it all makes for a haze that leaves Pietro dazzled. He looks for a target as he draws his short sword and catches sight of a wounded officer on the poop deck who would make for easy prey. Nimbly, with the quiet grace granted by a decade of sailing and a year of Mekhet blood, the neonate makes his way onto the deck just in time to find the Onda's captain being torn apart in unspeakable agony by an unfathomably monstrous creature. Pietro recoils, considering taking his sword to the thing before reminding himself that the monsters are on his side. He is just as monstrous as this thing. Pietro steels himself and tries once again to let his Beast take over. If he can just abandon his humanity, and accept that the Onda's crew are cattle to be slaughtered, then it should be easy. Right? But even cattle deserve a quick and easy death when they're slaughtered for food... The neonate's glassy-eyed philosophizing is interrupted by and incoming saber as one of the Onda's marines aims to give him a swift Final Death, but the blow is stopped and easily cast aside by a Nordic axe. The sound of steel on steel gives Pietro a rude awakening, just in time to watch Kvedulf save his miserable life by cutting the marine into surprisingly neat halves. "Thanks," Pietro says nervously, tugging at his beard again before trotting off to find another quarry. He is committed, this time, to making a kill and feeding his increasingly starved Beast.
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Nov 11, 2014 17:12
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After the first wave swarms the merchant ship and the lines reel the Onda up against the Tide, Black Betty leads the second wave across armed with shackles. Already, the crew had been pacified. The twin furies of Renee and Maganda tore through the initial resistance and Kveldulf, battered the rest into pulpy submission, killing maybe more than he had planned, though all killed less than they would have liked. Except Pietro, the mekhet killed far more than he had ever wanted despite the urgings of his Beast. The final nail in the Onda's coffin was the horror that was her captain's death, all of which poor Pietro had ringside seats for. With their captain dead and monsters walking among them, the crew had no choice. They did not know that they were trading a quick death for a much, much slower one. The terrifying assault by the vampires of the Red Tide was a resounding success, at least 100 men are alive and assembled on the deck of the Onda de Oro for the taking. The pirates of the Sanguine Dream have boarded as well, most laughing as they scour the ship for booty. Fehed, the surgeon, warps the flesh and bone of the most gravely wounded, saving lives at the cost of crippling deformity. He drains dry almost as many men as he saves, but his macabre skills keep a dozen men from death's door. For the moment, at least. Captain Shark strides across the blood soaked deck, the fighting finished, and lifts the tattered corpse of the Onda's captain by the gnawed skull with a single hand. “Ah, hell, boys! Ye weren't supposed to kill this poxy bastard,” he laughs, flinging the body out into the sea, effortlessly. Shark picks up a severed arm, the clean cut most likely made by the vikings axe, and holds it above his serrated mouth, letting the blood flow down his gullet, ruby rivulets stream across his rough, Grey flesh as he allows his mouth to overflow. The arm also finds it way to the sea with a casual, backhanded toss. “The quartermaster,” he roars to the Onda's crew, many already in chains. “The first one of ye whore-sons to point out the quartermaster gets put on a raft with water and food to live another night.” The words are barley out of the nosferatu's mouth before a beefy man, not yet chained stands, shouting, “There! The bald man the scarred cheek! He's the quartermaster!” Mutterings amongst the Onda's crew begin, but are silenced as the Tide's mortal pirates administer savage kicks, continuing to chain the crewmen. Lonesome Jim strides over to the bald man with inhuman grace. He kneels down, looking the man in the eye and quietly asks, “Are you the quartermaster?” Dazed, the bald man nods, Jim lifts the man to his feet and escorts the quartermaster over to Shark who pushes him roughly towards the Onda's captain's cabin. “Betty! You'll be wanting to listen in this,” he calls back before vanishing into the cabin. Black Betty looks to the vampires of the Red Tide, “Divide the food and transport them to our ships.” Then, she too, enters the cabin. The crew of the Sanguine Dream have already divided into work teams, transporting the cargo of silks and spices up onto the deck for transport while other tally the ship's supply of wood and canvas and nails all the other mundane items that are more precious than gold when a storm has battered a proud ship into kindling. (Okay, fight is over! How does your character react to the violence? How do they treat the captives? How do they do the more banal of duties assigned them while their captains do whatever it is they're doing to that quartermaster? Again, don't worry about stats or rolls here, just have fun interacting with each other and building your personalities while the story starts to wind into gear.)
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Nov 13, 2014 16:25
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Maganda nods in acknowledgement of her captain's order and moves to face the row of shackled men. She can see the Onda's quartermaster being dragged away by Shark and Jim as Betty follows behind. What could possibly be gained by questioning the quartermaster of a ship already under the Brotherhood's command? It is not her place to question. Maganda watches as the human crew put down a plank between the ships so that the captives can be marched across and placed in the hold. "March," She orders the man at the head of the line. Cowed from both the slaughter of his friends and the tone of Maganda's voice, he shuffles forward towards the makeshift bridge in his irons. "Follow him." She orders the next three men, who comply. The next one, however, lurches towards Maganda, attempting to wrap the chains of his shackles around her neck. He is, of course, encumbered by his irons; Maganda swiftly steps aside and sweeps his legs out from under him. Once he is down, Maganda draws her sword and puts it to his throat. "March. Now." He staggers to his feet, spitting at Maganda. This one won't be easily restrained; his will is great, but even the greatest of wills can be broken. "Take him," She orders two of the Tide's mortal crew, jabbing the man's spine with her sword. "He is holding up the line." Maganda returns to the group, though her eyes cannot help but wander to the captain's cabin across the deck.
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Nov 13, 2014 20:39
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Pietro Tremonti His Beast now sated by the blood he both shed and drank during the fight, Pietro is eager to put the battle behind him and go to work auditing the Onda's cargo. The sweet taste of human blood reminded him that fighting was well worth its rewards, but the young merchant still lacks the others' stomach for torture and dismemberment. Life on the seas is about material rewards, not some animalistic satisfaction from kicking a beaten dog. Material rewards sometimes include human lives though. Over the course of his many years as a trader in the Caribbean, Pietro had moved his fair share of slaves. So forcing a line of chained men onto a ship was nothing more peculiar than hauling a crate of spices to the seasoned merchant. "Keep it moving," he says in Spanish, counting the men as they shuffle by, "Hurry it up. Let's get everything locked down before dawn." Pietro flinches when the crewman lunges at Maganda, but is surprised by her mercy when she lets the man live, unscathed. Thinking again, she may be planning to punish him with something worse than death later. Were he still human, he'd have shuddered in response.
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Nov 13, 2014 20:57
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Unlike the others, Kveldulf has not eaten. This seems as good a time as any, and instead of helping force the cattle over to the ships, he seizes the first captive to look him in the eye by his throat, choking him into submission. He's about to bite into his neck, tear out his veins, and feast, but he pauses. No, that won't do at all. It would spook the rest; bloodshed always does, whether in the slaughterhouse or the captured ship. Not that he cares on any level of empathy, really - it's just that spooked cattle cause themselves injury and, more importantly, taste far worse. Instead, he drags his captive to the fallen and tattered canvas of the fallen mainsail, and only in the darkness hidden from their eyes does he satisfy his hunger, drinking deep and silencing the man with an iron hand clamped over his jaw. He leaves him, heartbeat rapidly fluttering to nothingness, and turns to his duties with the others. Unlike them, he orders those under his control to carry their dead aboard the Tide Any resistance is met with swift cuffs and blows, and if it continues, with a smack of the shield - even if it shatters a skull. At the edge of his axe, he herds them into Haroun's waiting arms. Body parts are carefully examined by the wretched creature, the best thrown to a pile, the others dumped over the sides. It takes a herculean effort for him to resist the urge to simply begin feasting now, in plain sight, but once he has a suitable selection he quickly disappears below decks, giving in to the temptation, sating himself on fresh human meat. As the captives dwindle, he turns to Pietro. He's a ghastly sight, even more than before. The hair and beard are still spiked, but his clothing is spattered with congealing blood and brain, and great gouts of spilled vitae drench his chin and his upper chest. None of it seems to bother him in the least, but then, he's been at it so long that it's second nature to him. His voice is a little rough at first, before he speaks - blood has a way of coating his vocal cords, leaving a residue that makes it hard for him to speak clearly without effort sometimes. Another of those little things that once bothered him, but he increasingly forgets to address as he ages. Second nature. "Learn from the women, Pietro. I see you when you fight - you hesitate, you pause, you fear. They do not. Learn from their example, and you will live long." A pause, a small... Is that a wrinkling of the eyes? It's hard to tell. Another of those little things that fade away over the centuries, facial expressions. Tones grow cold, and eyes rarely wrinkle with a smile. Here, they wrinkle without. Peculiar. "But it is good, also, that you do not kill for the sake of it. To kill without reason is pointless. These men, they are more valuable alive. So learn, but do not forget you do right to kill only when you must. These are our slaves now, and the man who kills another's slave must pay for the debt, and had you killed too many, we perhaps would make you pay out of your share!" He turns, roughly shoving a lingering captive forward over the gangplank, spitting a threat at him in some guttural Germanic tongue. No doubt he doesn't understand it, but the meaning is clear anyway. When they are done, he returns to the quarterdeck, picking up the shattered remains of his familiar. He pores over it, trying to see if he can remedy it, bring the wretched little thing back to its miserable and hellish unlife. Too much damage, too many broken bones, too little skull left. He flicks it over the side, as though it never mattered in the first place.
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Nov 14, 2014 14:09
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Renée Ah dividing the spoils. She takes a sadistic pleasure in see all these white men in chains, being evaluated, separated, and marched to their fate. She singles out one in particular who has been glaring at her since the chains we placed on him. Not because of the blood that still flecked her face, no, this was a look she's known since long before her embrace. She motions to the crewman standing behind him to pull the prisoner to his feet. The first thing she does is tear his shirt off and run her finger up and down his muscles, poking and prodding various places with no real rhyme or reason. She pulls his pants aside and smirks. Warts. “Looks like you've been spending too much time at the dockside whorehouses. Though I can see why that's the only women you can get.” The final point of her inspection comes to his mouth, pulling at his lips and running her fingers along his gums as if he were a horse. He attempts to clamp down, but she is so fast that all he gets is his own tongue. “Careful with this one,” she calls over to Maganda, “he's a biter.” Turning back to the crewman she adds, “Take out his teeth. He won't be needing them.”
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Nov 14, 2014 20:08
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With ruthless efficency, the captives are divided and herded into the reeking belowdeck charnel houses that are the ship's slave pens. The sight and smell of these holding areas are enough that some of the chained men attempt an escape, but, hobbled as they are, the uprising is put down almost before it can begin. The crew of the Sanguine Dream takes a little longer to distribute the material spoils of their raid, but shortly after they finish, Captain Shark, Black Betty and Lonesome Jim finally emerge from the cabin, the quartermaster is no where in sight. "Alright you lazy bilge rats, get to the ships we have work to do," Shark roars, anger evident in his voice. Betty gathers her kindred crew, ushering them onto the Tide and into her cabin. Arturo Hernandez is already there, waiting. "We were supposed to find a map," Betty says after taking a seat behind her desk. The captain's cabin on the Red Tide is small and plain. The large mahagony desk takes up most of the space, a shelf along the wall opposite filled with maps and charts eating much of the rest of it. With the five vampires and single ghoul all occupying the cabin, there's barley room to breathe. Thankfully, that's not really a problem. The gangrel steeples her fingers, eyes glittering dangerously, "No map. Instead we find a story. It would have been better if the captain had been taken alive, but we know that the quartermaster did not lie." She finishes in a grunt. "We sail for Curacao."
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Nov 17, 2014 09:08
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Pietro Tremonti Feeling lost, cramped, and baffled by the workings of the Dream and Tide's commanders, Pietro doesn't begin to feel actual fear until Curacao is mentioned. He immediately feels the need to speak up: "Captain, if I may," he begins in his Italian-accented English, "Being the newest member of your crew, I do not understand what plans are at work. I don't know the map you seek, or to what the map may lead, nor do I know what the quartermaster has told you, or about what you know he did not lie." Pietro's eyes blink nervously between the assembled vampires, "But Curacao is the home of my dread sire. He and I parted on hostile terms and if he should detect my presence on his island, I fear I may put your crew and your plans in danger."
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Nov 18, 2014 11:23
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Kveldulf: Viking at Law Kveldulf listens intently. He's a little unfamiliar with the lay of the land still, but he has a vague idea of where Curacao is - give or take a few islands. It's almost certainly too far south to find Sigrun, who's probably lurking in the northern Caribbean, but such it is. It's as good a place as any to strike the Rotgrafen name into the land-dwelling cowards hearts. After a moment's thinking, he speaks, clearing his throat midway through. Damned clots... "Captain, Curacao, is it held by the Sanctified?" He hopes it is. If it is, he can leave some agents ashore to wreak havoc in his name. Why confine the terror to the sea, when a well-placed ghoul or three can spread it as readily on shore? He turns after the answer, addressing the Mekhet across the room. "Let your sire find you, Pietro. We will tear off his arms and legs and leave him to blister in the sun until he is crispy. If their 'Prince' raises his ire, we will pay him with blood-slaves. With two birds, we will kill one stone. Your sire will pay, and the Prince will see the way of laws." He pauses. Two birds, one stone, that's right. So why did it sound wrong when he said it?
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Nov 18, 2014 15:23
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Black Betty stares uncomfortably long into Pietro's eyes, Kveldulf's words do nothing to break her concentration. For the moment, the viking is ignored. "Not much was told to Captain Shark when we took you in, Pietro. We knew only that you were fleeing a powerful man. Who is your sire? I pray that I do not know the answer." Her voice is hard and strained, the voice of a woman given a difficult task that is expected to turn impossible.
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Nov 18, 2014 15:40
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Pietro Tremonti "He is a Dutch merchant prince," Pietro picks uncomfortably at his fingernails, arms at his sides, "His financial power I know well. He used it to crush me in my mortal life. His Kindred power I am told is equally fearsome, but I couldn't speak to it personally. His name is Johan van der Venne and our blood is called Mekhet, I understand." Pietro feels like a child confessing his misbehavior to a parent as it seemed Black Betty was not happy with his news.
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Nov 18, 2014 18:15
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Renée "Oh what's the fuss," Renée slaps the Italian on the back, as much as one can with this little space. "We can handle one shut-in. Give you a chance to finish your business with the old rotter, eh?"
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Nov 18, 2014 19:23
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Maganda Maganda does not understand Kveldulf's eternal obsession with the Lancea et Sanctum, but she chooses to ignore the old one in favor of Pietro. Clearly, his words have upset Betty. "My Captain, I doubt this Dutchman's influence reaches out to sea. Keep Pietro aboard the ship; the rest of us can go ashore to find this map." Something twinges inside of her neck. Maganda reaches up reflexively and scratches the bloodless flesh, narrowing her eyes. "Perhaps if you tell us what type of map we seek in Curacao, your crew can better prepare."
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Nov 18, 2014 19:51
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Betty's shoulders slump in the closest thing to defeat any of them have seen. She stares now at her desk, the fingers of her hands pressed into the bridge of her nose in an almost meditative pose. Again, conversation washes over her, but as it does, her resolve comes back. "Curacao is not some fishing village that can be overwhelmed by a single ship, even one as fearsome as we," she begins. "van der Veene is our target and it is not a map he posseses, but a coin. A special coin that will help us locate the map. Negotiating with him directly was already going to be difficult, but with his wayward childe on our crew," she pauses, looking to Maganda, "you are strong, but you are young. This merchant is an elder and a mekhet, he will undoubtedly know that Pietro is with us and, should we approach him, even all together, have defenses in place to capture or destroy us." Now she stands, swearing in a language that none of the assembled understand, only the vehemence of her words conveying their intent. "What works at sea does not work on land, no matter how much I would prefer a stand up fight. No, in this task, we need court allies. Captain Shark is owed a boon from another elder on this island, Mogans Visser who is yet another damned merchant. More importantly, this Dutchman is rival to the other. I will speak with him on the Captain's behalf." Her face briefly twists in disgust, Betty hates to play the diplomat. "Your task is more straightforward, but also more difficult. There is a revolutionary somewhere in the jungle. His name is Nsoah and he is mekhet. We have traded with him before and he also struggles against van der Veene. There is a small cove the island, I will anchor the Tide in a small cove away from the city where we have met Nsoah before and go by foot to meet Visser. You will have to find the mekhet. "Pietro, what can you tell us about your sire? About his compound?"
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Nov 19, 2014 09:58
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Pietro Tremonti "My knowledge of him is limited to the mortal world," his brow furrows, "I came to Johan as a mortal and left a terrified fledgling with no knowledge of what I was or what I had encountered. Ghe sboro! I still scarcely understand any of this madness." Pietro buries his head in his hands for a moment before regaining his composure, "On top of everything, the cazzo refused to speak to me except in his lowland swamp babble. I can tell you nothing of his weaknesses. I couldn't even begin to guess he his age. I never knew there was so much as another vampire on Curacao. I imagine this Mr Visser will be of more use to you in describing Johan's monstrous powers." The merchant adjusts his cap, having nudged it out of place in his brief fit of frustration, "His compound, on the other hand, I know well. I lived in the mansion and kept to the grounds for a week. I can map it for you, though from what I saw it is a typical colonial manor. He has a contingent of some 20 guards, keeps horses, dogs and slaves. It would not surprise me, however, if there was much more he kept hidden from me. If nothing else, I learned from Johan that we Mekhet excel in the art of bedrog, the deception."
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Nov 19, 2014 12:21
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Maganda The fact that Captain Betty believes that she is strong makes Maganda happy, but she remains blank-faced, nodding in response. She listens as Pietro talks. Maganda has heard of Mehket, and their disciplines are not unknown to her, but she still has her doubts that even an elder vampire can sense the blood so far from shore. But it is not her place to question her captain. "My captain, I am familiar with jungles. I will find this Nsoah for you." Maganda looks past Kveldulf to Pietro. "Perhaps send this one with me; if his sire wants him so badly, let him muddy his hands."
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Nov 19, 2014 21:54
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Kveldulf Though he may not look it, especially with his war-face still on, Kveldulf is more of a talker than a fighter. Trudging through the jungle to meet a revolutionary? There might perhaps be a value to that - certainly, there will be in the right circumstances - but he's not sold on it being the best use of his rather peculiar skillset. His captain, for all her ferocity, is no diplomat, nor is she a learned one when it comes to the customs of trade among 'civilized' people. This other Dutchman is both. "Captain, I will go where you will send me. But I think I might be of more value at your side with this Visser. In my years, I dealt with many traders and many men from the Nederlands alike. I speak his languages, both the Dutch and the unspoken ways of men of mercantile inclination. Visser may owe a boon to our Captain, but if he is Christian and Mekhet both, he is slippery - I mean no offence to you, Pietro - and not to be trusted. He will seek to exploit us as ruthlessly as we do him, and I would see him come out of the bargain the poorer for it."
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Nov 22, 2014 12:03
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"Every bit helps, if it comes down to an assault," Betty says to Pietro. "We will make note of all you know before it comes to one. Yes, go with Maganda, blood yourself in the jungles, it is good to learn of the wild places." When Kveldulf speaks, she shakes her head vigourously, "No, no, you must... hmmm. It is no secret that I am not the most patient of women. The intrigues of landed kindred bore and frustrate me. You assistance will be welcome, but I suggest you get cleaned up first. "And you, Renee? Nsoah may find your tale compelling."
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Nov 22, 2014 13:07
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Renée "I've known men who talked of revolution in my time, but rarely have I seen anything come of it but their own death. When we find this Nsoah I'm sure I can spin a tale that, if nothing else, we see him meet his final death in a way that is beneficial to us. Besides, if I wanted to spend an evening with a stuffy Dutchman, I'd arrange a meeting with Segher."
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Nov 22, 2014 17:35
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"Then it is decided," Betty stands, her palms flat on the desk, "Kveldulf, you and I will meet this rival Dutchman. Maganda, Pietro, and Renee will locate Nsoah and his rebellion. Remember that time is of the essence and be back on the Tide by dawn." Without another word, Black Bettyslides her way out of the cabin and starts to shout orders to the crew. The Red Tide should arrive at Curacao before the next sunset. sorry for the delay. Dragon Age: Inquisition is a helluva drug. Talk amongst yourselves, start to show me those intracrew relationships. There are about three hours of night left. So far, everyone has earned 2 beatsa piece! Second post is updated. Soonmot fucked around with this message at 12:24 on Nov 29, 2014 |
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Nov 29, 2014 12:18
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Kveldulf With Black Betty out of the room, the eldest among them pauses, rigid for a long moment, before he speaks, addressing his comrades. "If you feel it would be of use to you, I will send Haroun to assist you in the jungles. But he is a difficult creature to manage for those inexperienced with him. The choice is yours. Tonight, I would see to the division of the captives into our shares." Stepping over to the desk, he seizes a piece of foolscap and an ink pen, scratching out a rough diagram. "We can strike from the options two thirds of them, for our captains," He says, jotting down their names and their customary shares. "Unless one of you would like to complain to them about the fairness of such an arrangement?" A small growling chuckle, a rare thing from the increasingly cold and distant elder. This has always been the most difficult part to hold together, in his experience. The captives, whether kept communally or distributed, always cause dispute over feeding rights - so it was among the great bands of Sigrun, so it is everywhere. He knows it's a risky business, to take on the matter of dividing the spoils, but who better for the task? Who among them, including their captains, has more experience in the matter than he does? "I would suggest that we leave any of them that do not strike our interest as free cattle, to be used by any of us. Let us be selective in choosing our finest pickings, and limit ourselves. The Captains will be more likely to accede to our request for exclusive possession if we ask for but one or two favoured vessels." A quick set of lines, the names of all them scratched down beside them. "Who desires what in their pickings? Mine, mine must be literate. I have no use for a possession that cannot read, even if they should have the sweetest blood in the world in their veins. And should there be any, I would lay claim of first refusal among us on any of them who are from my homelands. I expect each of us would expect the same, no? Some small rememberance of our homes, even if just in the way they taste or the look of fear on them?" Another of those growling chuckles rumbles out while Kveldulf jots down his own criteria on the foolscap. "Dawn comes quickly, brothers and sisters, and I would yet clean myself before investigating the cattle. The blood in my hair offends me - it has gone stale, it has that smell that does not please me. Let us not hem and haw over the matter, speaking niceties and falsehoods. Who do you want?" Just something to try and get things moving - plus, everyone needs a few forced retainers or some bloodbags they can drag into the jungle with them. Kveldulf's scheme calls for literate pawns he can slot into the courts they visit to serve as eyes and ears, so his refusing to eat his 'special share' might cause some tensions down the line.
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Dec 4, 2014 03:57
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Maganda "We have no need for that. The three of us and a few mortal crewmen will serve well enough," Maganda replies to Kveldulf, for she can only imagine the cannibal away from his master's watchful eye, turning on them in the jungle. "We are seeking out a rebel camp, not attempting to assault it." She looks at what he has written on the paper, though the strange alphabet means little to her. Maganda folds her arms and considers what she wants in her blood. "I would keep my large friend from earlier," She says, thinking of the one who lashed out with his chains. "And I suppose if we are being nostalgic, one of the Orientals. Renee, you may have the biter." Maganda looks to her comrade and smiles. The smile not only doesn't reach her eyes, it doesn't reach her mouth.
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Dec 4, 2014 19:46
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Renée Renée smiles at Maganda's suggestion. She finds the Norseman's need to go straight to the pen tedious, and dividing the captives up like cattle behind closed doors unseemly, but then she thinks back to that defiant, disgusted stare. "Yes, a good idea. I think I will enjoy breaking him. We'll see if he can keep that hatred in his eyes to the very end. Few do. As for nostalgia, while I'm sure there are men from Hispaniola among the catch, such men are not so rare in these waters to draw special notice. Or did you think I felt some kinship for a far-away land that I've never set eyes upon?"
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Dec 5, 2014 05:44
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Kveldulf: Kine Accounting Specialist The bloodied viking dutifully records Maganda's specific desires, waiting a moment for Renee to assent before he scratches down the biter in her column as well, silent in answer for a moment before he begins. "I forget that you are not so removed from your living days by age or distance, Renee. I meant no offence to you. It would be a foolish thing to seek that, having seen you fight."
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Dec 5, 2014 08:24
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Pietro Tremonti Accounting for goods and equitable distribution of wages are familiar things for Pietro, but assessing the value of blood cattle are very much the opposite, "I think I am even less removed than Renée," he speaks from the corner, naturally gravitating toward the shadows in the Mekhet way, "And I would ask the help of an experienced sommelier in choosing... vessels. I assume it's a different appraisal than that of a negro slave?"
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Dec 6, 2014 20:57
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Kveldulf "That depends. If you wish only to keep a private feeding stock, the principles are much the same as picking a thrall was. I assume they have not changed in the many years since. You look for the hale, the healthy, and the broken. Someone strong enough to survive repeated feeding, but without the will to fight back or to kill themselves." The viking irritably rubs at his blood-caked beard, shedding flakes of the dried blood as he does. Oh, for the days when he didn't need to rely on such parlour tricks to strike fear in the heart of his enemies.
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Dec 7, 2014 01:41
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Maganda "I have always preferred to bite my stock ahead of time to see who has the best taste. But that becomes more difficult when the captains request that we take a ship alive," Maganda says, her eyes following Pietro into the shadows. "By the way, Pietro, since you are new to the Tide, allow me to inform you that feeding on another's mortal is a dangerous prospect. You seem polite enough, but in lean times like the past few weeks it becomes difficult to leash one's Beast." She looks to Kveldulf. "If we are done claiming the spoils, perhaps we should discuss what awaits us at landfall tomorrow. Old One, I know that you are not of the tropics, but do you have any advice for seeking out this Nsoah in the jungle? Renee, you?"
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Dec 7, 2014 19:54
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Kveldulf The old viking bristles just a little. Why? Who the hell knows, he does that every ten minutes just about. Perhaps it's merely the consequence of being older and more... removed... from human emotion. But then he calms himself, as he always does. That, afterall, is the distinction between a man and a beast. Self-control. Knowing when, and where, to let the animal out to play. It takes him a moment to notice the question as he wrestles the hungry bastard back down. Perhaps just the memory of lean weeks is enough to stir it. "You look for a rebel. Such men are prone to foolish thoughts and foolish deeds. Never trust them, never turn your back on them, and show them neither disrespect nor undue pandering. Think of them as you would a stray dog. Give them the right amount of respect and trust, and they will love you - but make sure to temper it by showing always that you are stronger than they are, that they do not seek to take advantage."
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Dec 8, 2014 02:15
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Dragon Age is my crack. Let me know when you guys are ready to advance. Thanks to Loomer's intersting spoils post, everyone gets 2 dots to put into Herd or Retainer or a combination of the two. These dots cannon go onto existing herd/retainer merits and may be taken away without XP or dots to compensate, unlike normal merits. Loomer and GC also get a beat for character interaction!
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Dec 8, 2014 08:07
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Pietro Tremonti "This rebel," Pietro straightens, thinking back to the coming mission, "What might he be rebelling against? Will he have more men at his back? I never heard of any rebellions on Curacao."
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Dec 11, 2014 11:33
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Maganda "I assume he is rebelling against van der Veene. We have known him for a while yet, and he works with others, though I have never been ashore to see their numbers or how many Kindred other than Nsoah are among their ranks." (I'm okay with moving on at this point.)
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Dec 11, 2014 18:29
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Renée "Anywhere there are slaves there are rebels, and it is safe to say the same goes for neonates."
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Dec 12, 2014 04:26
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Maganda Maganda nods at Renee's words. It is true that most young Kindred are used by their elders in their power struggles, and for that reason she is happy to be aboard a ship away from their machinations. "The night is growing short, and I for one am going to prepare for tomorrow. Surely Kveldulf would like to do the same." Though her small stature can be annoying at other times, it is beneficial when it comes to moving around below deck. Maganda weaves through the bodies of mortal sailors performing the daily demands of life on the sea: hauling rope, killing rats, hauling plunder to the hold. Her nose has long been desensitized to the stink, but nonetheless she moves quickly through the crew and slips into her cabin. Like everything else shipboard, it is small and cramped, though the Kindred crew receive far better lodgings than the mortal sailors. Her most precious (and only) belongings are kept here in a trunk anchored to the floor: swords and hatchets from her homeland, jewelry, perfumes, and extra clothing. A ceramic pitcher and washbasin sits on a small ledge along with a silver-handled hairbrush; a wooden chair lashed to the floor sits across from a mirror screwed to the wall. She goes to the berth and shakes Arjuna awake. "We make landfall in Curacao tomorrow," She informs the changeling. "Clean the bolo knives and our swords and prepare a satchel of supplies for yourself while I sleep. We will be going ashore in the jungle to search for some Mehket friend of the Captain's and we may need use of your talents in obtaining his cooperation." As she climbs into the recently vacated berth to wait out the daylight, Arjuna says, "I'll have them ready for you. But can't you take one of the other crewmen instead?" "Renee and I will pick two others in the morning, but we need to be assured that they will not flee the moment our backs are turned. I doubt you will stray very far from my side or speak out of turn, and so you are coming." Arjuna glowers. His already dusky skin flickers, and the shadows around him seem to bend inward. "I sometimes feel, Maganda, that I traded one Keeper for another." She smiles inwardly, because Arjuna knows his place. (Wasn't sure if dayposts were requested/desired but I'm doing one anyway.)
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Dec 12, 2014 20:21
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(day posts are an easy way to score a beat!)
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Dec 13, 2014 08:17
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| # ? Apr 19, 2024 23:53 |
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With waves gently lapping at the hull of the Tide, night gives way to the dawn and the monsters retreat into what darkness they can find. The living take control of the ship and while they may breath the salty air, their beating hearts are as cold and uncaring as the vampires lurking below. Orders given by starlight are carried out to the letter and, as night creeps near, Curacao looms closer. The pirates keep their distance from the city, circling the island to one of the isolated smuggling coves that dot the jungle. By the time the undead's hunger force them from slumber, the ship is moored and rowboats are being readied for deployment. Black Betty emerges from her cabin, her ghoul roughly manhandles two weary, stumbling slaves back towards the larder. The small pirate captain is decked in full regalia, a knee length coat of brushed velvet the color of drying blood adorned with thread of gold covers a midnight black ruffled shirt. The rising moon is reflected in the shine of her knee high leather boots and the thick belt of golden links that circles her waist holds a thick, barbaric cutlass. A wide brimmed hat with a single peacock feather rounds out the ensemble. Shark enjoys the costume of a pirate captain, Betty has never shared that enjoyment. The sense that this outfit is a suit of armor for a different sort of battle comes across in the tense set of her shoulders and the unconscious flexing of her strong fingers. "Remember your goals for tonight. Meet this rebel slave, find out what he knows and what he asks for his assitance. The jungle is dangerous, even for us. Kveldulf? Ready yourself."
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Dec 16, 2014 09:01
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