Belay there, me hearties! The winds be whisperin' a tale in me ears, aye. An' me 'earts'a'achin' fer the sound o' thunderin' waves an' the feel o' a rockin' deck 'neath me soles. I be dearly 'opin' that you lot be wishin' the same, soz I do… Me thanks be goin' out't' FoxyJosh, Jarkes, an' Darth Meanie… This tale be for you bunch o' bilge rats, Harhar!
Anyways, yeah, thanks much, reviewers! I'm juggling a frillion stories (some not on FFnet) and I'm trying to balance'em out. AND I've been working on my pirate speak (to no avail, hahaa…). I think I've pretty much figured out what's going to happen in this one, though uh… sudden storms might blow me off course, eh? ; D
Enjoy the chapter!
-O-O-O-
-O-O-O-
"Look, ahead is your home, Lainaria."
"Thank you, Rei. We won't forget your kindness…"
"Do not thank me, friend. There is nought but darkness ahead…"
"Wha…?"
"Tend to your Captain. I shall return shortly."
--
…
--
"We finally reeched our home, Lainaria. But there waz nothing left. It waz a goste town, litterd with sines of pillage and abandon. We hav bin gone for too long. No bodeez, no trase of life. Silens clung like deth. I am sorry that such a welcom awated the crew. They hav gone throo as much as we hav… they diserv mor than this. Luckee the old stor room dug undergrownd iz still heer. This village waz bilt to servive, after all. What happened then?... Skip iz heeling but tiz a sad site to awaken to. I still think uv that strange day, wen we fownd him on the ship alreddy fixed up. Now he iz faraway, no dowt az to wat iz on hiz mind. But if thairs one thing Ive lerned from him… its that lite will always shine throo the darknes."
-O-O-
Time passed like a sloth on the deserted island. The Seatunder was lashed to a steep ridge, rising and falling with the tides, and the crew made did with whatever they could find in the village. Days were spent cleaning and repairing the ship, sleeping, and honing their blades. It seemed like no beast had much to say these days. Much less Skipper, who was either pained by the wound on his chest, or crushed by that savage defeat. They guessed it was the latter. He healed, physically. A thin scar drew across him that was mostly hidden by fur. But his spirit was still broken, and he strove so very hard to find it with the coming of each dawn…
Here there was nothing. Nothing but the pale rose skyline before him and the wisps of clouds stretching like fingers into the distance, reaching for the rising sun. There was nothing but the sound of waves that washed about his mind like that of a conch shell. His mind could not sleep these days, but here it was at peace. Here there was no one, only him… before she suddenly appeared.
"Why do you brood, Skipper?"
He didn't even lift his head; her visits were frequent these days. "Hullo Zephora. You already know why."
The Kirlia sat gracefully beside him and replied, "How would I know? It is not as if I could read minds…"
Skipper gave her a sarcastic look, causing the seer to chuckle, and somberly turned his head again to the sea.
"It is a beautiful morning, is it not?"
"…"
She was a mysterious one. The Buizel could only guess how she was able to appear at the right place at the right time, but her presence was a welcome to him. Still, he was not in the mood to talk. Zephora saw this, but was not deterred. She went on, in that ever-gentle voice of hers.
"How is the pain today?" she asked, gently placing a hand on his chest.
He closed his eyes. Warmth emanated from her touch and coursed like blood through his body. When she was near, everything was warm, and all was serene.
"Nearly gone," he answered.
"So what is hurting you?"
"…" Cruel laughter, eyes fiercer than a galestorm and a heart colder than ice… the rush of steel and the feeling of everything slipping away… "… I've lost. I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. There is nothing left to live for."
The seer tilted her head and gave him a questioning stare, her large eyes shining thoughtfully. "Oh? Then what are you searching for each dawnrise? It is not like you, Skipper, to give up so."
"I…"
"Dawn brings new hope. Reach for it."
"But that's…"
"Do it now, Skipper. Grasp the future in your paw. Hold it close, don't ever let it slip away."
Sighing, he did as the Kirlia requested and raised his paw. It looked dark against the sun, and the streams of light that shone through his fingers caused him to squint. But it felt kind of nice… the warmth of the rays were pleasant on his toughened pads, and gave his burnt-orange fur a golden hue. His clenched his paw, letting the light completely bathe his face. A crunch. His eyes opened in surprise as he closed his fingers around something solid, something very real.
It was a map, not unlike the one from the Aurora Borealis. But upon close inspection, Skipper started to notice the subtle differences… There seemed to be even more islands on this one, but they lacked the detailed description of coastline and topography. In their places were cryptic sentences… above Lainaria said: Here a warrior is born again with the coming dawn. All over the scroll such phrases were written in elegant script, shining silver letters… Here something lost is regained… Here a past is finally put to rest… Here is the line between two worlds… Here…Here………Here is truth… Here…………
Here, is the End.
"Zephora, what is all of this…?" He looked beside him, but she was already gone.
A voice whispered in the breeze, "There are still blank spaces on the map, Skipper. Destiny awaits…"
-O-O-
-O-O-
"They found his body floating among the jetsam…"
"Oh, did they now…?"
"Aye, and they found This in his heart."
There was a dull clatter as a silver dagger was thrust unceremoniously on the wooden counter. The Houndoom picked it up cautiously, examining the worn binding on the handle and the jagged, tainted edge of the blade. Then, his mouth twisted into a cruel grin. He tested the weight, twirled the weapon in his fingers fondly…
The Golduck looked on with disgust. "Drake, your own father… How could you?"
Thnck! The blade sunk up to the hilt in the space between Dorian's webbed claws. Drake leaned back casually in his chair and sneered, "Eh, never liked him anyways. 'Father,' hah! I tell ye, mate, blood runs just as thin as water."
His friend frowned deeply, searching the face of the creature he once thought he knew… "Is that so? I guess they'll find this stuck in my back tomorrow morning then, eh?"He said coldly, one hand gripping the handle of the dagger.
A strong arm clapped around his shoulders and twinkling eyes winked at him. "Don't say that, Dori! You're my matey and you know it! I did this for us… I did this for you, chum!"
"Funny, I never remembered asking you to commit murd…"
"Enough of that! You know Pops never let us touch his 'precious' little boat, yeah? Well, now it's all ours! And guess what?"
Drake's father was once a kind creature… Stern, and short-tempered, but definitely good of heart and proud… "You killed him for his ship?"
Ignoring that, the Houndoom punched him lightly in the chest and leaned in as if to share a wonderful secret…
"We're settin' sail, chum! And I'm making You the Captain!"
The Golduck's stomach did a somersault. Could this be true? Growing up it had been his dream…
"Hahaa! I knew you'd see things my way, Dori! We're finally off to sea!"
… but a creature did not deserve to die, for this…
--
Dorian's eyes flashed open, wide and afraid. Sleep came with haunting dreams the past couple of nights. His claws tingled as he recalled the familiar vibration of a dagger thrust between them, so close to his skin…He sat up and looked around finding that his friends slept on peacefully, and he felt a touch of envy at their innocence…
"Dori," said a voice that caused him to jolt.
To his other side, Tottle sat up as well and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "If you have bad dreams you should drink of glass of warm milk…" said the tiny turtle, yawning widely.
A smile twitched in the corner of the helmsbeast's beak. "Go to sleep," he told the Squirtle, who needed no second bidding. Dorian pulled his blanket over the younger creature as he rose, unable to fall back asleep anyways. He slid soundlessly out of their makeshift shelter and stretched in the crisp morning air. Smoldering ashes flaked in the fire pit from last night and an empty pot lied strewn on the ground. Their camp was located in the shade of a small pine thicket at the base of the dormant volcano. Most of the island was flat and grassy, but small expanses of trees grew around the mountain's base. A thick, sturdy log served as their bench, though it was now covered in splintering gashes. Flint used it as target practice and the crew used it as a sort of pincushion to hold their weapons. There was Torq's thin and delicate rapier, the small knife Tottle carried in his shell, Flint's two throwing knives, (some acorns wedged in by Gully)… a spatula Buso had found and honed to a frighteningly keen edge… and his own saber, the worn steel having served him well for many, many years. Another notch was cut from the log as he drew it, admiring the curve of the blade he knew so well, and the feel of the handle that seemed to be made for his claws… The metal gleamed dangerously in the sunlight… Blood runs as thin as water, hahahaa!
"Hn!" His eyes grew steely as he drove the blade home, cleanly sliding it into a gnarled stump. The dreams, the things that were haunting him… He knew there was only one way to end them.
A gust of wind called him to look behind him, where Skipper descended from the rocky ledges and walked slowly toward the camp, his paw clutching some sort of scroll… The two acknowledged each other in silence, and Dorian noticed a familiar gleam in the Captain's eyes that had been gone since they had arrived on the forsaken island. It was good to see it back. Skipper stood next to the helmsbeast and stared at the spot on the log, where his rapier should be… The Golduck felt a sudden surge of kinship towards the sea weasel; they were both chained to something of their pasts…. They were both still fighting.
"We're sailing?" Dorian asked.
"Aye," the Buizel replied.
The Golduck eyed the scroll in the Buizel's paw. "To where?"
A loud cry, a mix between a screech and a moaning wail, caused the two to turn their attention to the skies as a familiar creature shot towards them at breathtaking speed.
"I think we're about to find out."
-O-O-O-
-O-O-O-
Flint needs to work on his writing (if you guys haven't guessed it was his 'journal entry'). That was fun to write. And it was Zephora who saved Skipper, there's more to her than what ye think ; D
Some characters overshadow others, and in certain parts. Like, Torq had her spinoff, and now I'm kind of building on Drake's, while Tottle grows a bit here and learns a bit there… I'll probably not develop Gully and Buso much, and Flint requires a bit of thinking. Skipper, of course, is the main main main character, even though the Seatunder crew functions as a whole. It's uber hard for me to keep track of them though XD And its hard to fit them all in sometimes… like when one thing happens I don't want to have to go through and describe the reactions of all seven of them or it'll seem…. Ugh.
Still, it really tells me I have to keep things in order. For example, when Jarkes mentioned Carakl in his review I was like "OH NO! I totally forgot about her!" I'm not done with her yet; she's not going to just walk away from her deed and fade into the background (unless I forget about her). I'll probably come back to her in the future though.
Alrighty, I'll see you guys later!
-Canyx