Author Topic: Privateer's Guild  (Read 219 times)

Sharpspeare

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Privateer's Guild
« Topic Start: November 11, 2017, 06:49:27 PM »
Roleplay from Barrett Brine Erickson   (12 hours ago)
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Barrett peers through his spyglass spotting the banner of Captain Drizztle, his long time comrade and second in command of the Royal Fleet.

"I hope everyone's thirsty," Barrett announces.

His orders upon leaving were clear, last man in Libido buys the ale.

"Ay Captain!" A lookout calls, "we've spotted Admiral Karibash's banner as well."

"Well send a runner then! It's time to toast to this voyage!"


Roleplay from Drizztle Sharpspeare   (8 minutes ago)
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(OOC: This takes place the same night as Barrett's Roleplay. I've been up for the past 17 hours and lost my first roleplay due to the turn change)

As Drizztle's men drank with gusto, as per the Marshal's orders, he stared out into the night. In his hands he held a bottle of Red Langor; his family had brewed the delicious drink for generations on Atamara. When the island sank, he brought the recipe and the tradition with him. Motion to his left caught his attention. Captain Reikhard approached. The stern faced man saluted and stated, "Mi'Lord, I bring news. You have been named Vice-Marshal of the Royal Fleet." Drizztle was stunned. After a moment, a smile grew wide on his face. "Fantastic! Spread the news to the men." The Captain nodded his acknlowedgement of the unnecessary order. He had already passed the information along.

After letting the news sink in, Drizztle turned to his captain again. He held out the bottle and ordered, "Take this to Marshal Barrett. Give him my apologies for being late. And tell him I hope he enjoys the Red Langor." Reikhard saluted, took the bottle, and went towards the Marshal's banners. "Enjoy my friend. Another voyage, another adventure," Drizztle thought to himself.
"I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is the moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle - victorious" ~ Vince Lombardi

"Allons-y" 10th Doctor

Sharpspeare

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Re: Privateer's Guild
« Reply #1: November 12, 2017, 03:09:37 AM »
Roleplay from Barrett Brine Erickson   (6 hours, 53 minutes ago)
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The bottle makes its way across the crowd to Barrett. He takes it in his gloved hand and on instinct bites down on the cork and rips it free with his mouth. As he prepares to take a swig straight from the bottle he stops, noticing a few of his troops, who come from higher birth have looks of utter horror on their faces. He stops and realizes the bottle is not mere rum but a Red Langor.

"Ha! That would have been a waste, goblets bring goblets, four of them!" Barrett orders, "summon the other nobles over here for a toast!"


(OOC: since coordinating these roleplays is sometimes complicated feel free to keep the story of this particular event going as we continue on. Just think of the rolepalys as what happened back when we were in Libidizedd)
"I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is the moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle - victorious" ~ Vince Lombardi

"Allons-y" 10th Doctor

pcw27

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Re: Privateer's Guild
« Reply #2: December 23, 2017, 09:08:19 AM »
Barrett Brine stands upon the bow of his ship as it sits anchored in Boreal's Harbor beneath a slate grey sky. With one foot on a cask of ale he holds his cutlass in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other. His troops sit about the deck having consumed the last of the salted pork and hard tack. Sated they see that Barrett is prepared to give a speech and rise to their feet to listen.

As Barrett speaks his booming voice echoes across the bay clear as day to anyone who might be listening.

"Friends, we have journeyed across the rolling seas to a stars forsaken land long abandoned, and yet I smile...

We have just now consumed our last mouthful wholesome food, drunk our last drop of fresh water. There is no turning back now. If we do not land we will surely die of hunger and thirst... and yet... I smile...

The shores beyond our treacherous. An horde of savage beasts and an army of inhuman revenants skulk through the outskirts, ready to attack at a moments notice... and YET I SMILE!

Why? Because we sail with Admiral Karibash, the greatest swordsmen in the history of Dwilight. Because we sail with Drizztle, a faithful first mate who has braved many adventures by my side. Because not far behind us, ready to provide reenforcement is Amy, who shares the blood of the great Cymore and voyages on with the exuberance of youth and the hunger to live up to her family legacy. And most of all because we are about to become legends whether we return home with the treasures of the Silver Temple, or merely our scars to tell the tale!"

He raises the rum bottle higher.

"This is the last strong drink we have on ship. We will not drink again until we stand on the beaches of Darfix! HERE HERE!"

"HAZAH!" the crew shouts back.

"HERE HERE!"

"HAZAH!"

"HERE HERE!"

"HAZAH!"

"All hands to the landing craft. Lock in oars. Weapons at the ready! And fear no darkness!"


Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb   (8 days, 22 hours ago)
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The ship cuts through the dark sea, brackish and foamy, under heavy grey skies. The Dancing Tides are calm in their own way, but still rolling and broiling, much as old King Boreal once described them. Not far off is the D'Haran carrack of Admiral Erickson, Karibash is in the Captain's Quarters of his own Dulbese galleon. The first mate comes in to inform him that land is in sight. Standing up from his whittling, Karibash steps out onto the deck to the bow, drawing his looking glass.

Darfix. He had been there a few times in the its Golden Age, a city of almost indescribable splendour. And even still, it is densely populated in a way he thought impossible. It harkened back to the early days of Dwilight, before the west was discovered. The shores teem with fishermen and little docks and apparently merchants.

Karibash closes the looking glass and turns back. "Ready to jibe?" He calls. The men call back, "Ready!" The deck bursts into a mess of activity as the mainsail is drawn up. "Jibe ho!", and the boat begins to turn leeward. Coming about, Karibash calls again "Heave to! Anchors away!" The galleon crawls to a halt as it has come into shallower waters and the anchors are dropped. Looking back, Karibash sees that Barrett has already deployed landing ships. He smirks. "Boats away! We land!" The sailors erupt into a cheer and the warriors begin to cheer from below deck as they start climbing up top. Retainers scramble to bring Karibash his armour and weapons. Turning back, he notices that the locals have noticed the ships, of a sort that hasn't been seen in a generation.

The boats splash into the water, Karibash sits as he tightens his boots and fittings. Kyrjan longboats will catch up to Barrett. Black flags flutter in the wind as the locals begin to scramble away from the shore.


Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb   (7 days, 16 hours ago)
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It was true, Kyrjan longboats are fast. Nearing the shore, Karibash is in awe at the size of Darfix, even in these uncivilized days. Cobbled together shacks and hovels fill in the space between crumbling marble, still brilliantly gleaming in whatever sun peers through the tilted towers. The locals have fled before the approaching boarding ships. The intents are made very clear as Karibash's own ship, great ram at the bow, smashes through a small fishing boat. He stands up and begins to cry out, howling curses in the name of Tor.

The scraping of the boats on the beach and the splash as eighty warriors jump in and trudge towards the buildings. They are wild and begin attacking and pillaging, cutting down any who get in their way. Barrett's vessels are closer now and they cheer as they begin to come ashore.

Eighty men cut down three hundred and fifty four innocent souls who stood in their way. Countless more are injured. Horns sound from the city proper, up the hill. The locals have assembled a mob to defend themselves.

Black flags fly high as the Great Admiral himself, the man of more legend than reality, the greatest privateer of all ages steps up beside Karibash. Karibash smiles, "Beat you to it, oh great commander." He nods up the hill, "and it would seem the locals are not too interested in our operating freely. Perhaps they can be reasoned with?"

Admiral Barrett smirks, "Oh, it seems we are about to engage in Toren negotiations aren't we?"

His and Karibash's men form into line with practiced precision as the hollering mob starts appearing at the top of the hill. Karibash's men wear heavy plates and chainmail, great wooden shields, menacing swords, axes, hammers, and spears with mortars and hand-cannons. In contrast, Barrett's men are true privateers, great powerful crossbows creak under tension that would snap lesser wood, immaculate chainmail of feather steel as strong as folded steel but light as tin, and fierce and dangerous cutlasses and bucklers gleam in the sunlight.

Outnumbered 12 to 1, Admiral Barrett grits his teeth. It is roughly twice as many men as he hoped they would meet. He cries out for his men to fire and the twang of the crossbows cracks across the harbour.

For just a moment.

Turns out the Toren mortars are much, much louder.

The front line of the peasantry crashes and bodies and gore scatter across the hill. To their credit they continue to charge, the second volley goes better for the crossbows: their bolts pin men to the ground and cleave body parts. The Toren scramble as a mortar fires a blank, the other three not making good contact.

Again and again the volleys fly, the superior reloading of the crossbows evident but the crushing power of the mortars thundering as they can make them fire. As the peasants charge closer, too close for mortars, the Toren begin hollering and screaming praises of fire and death.

It is apt. Drawing their hand-cannons the Toren fell 119 peasants in a single volley of smoke and thunder. As the ranks close another great volley of rolling thunder kills 118 before they draw weapons against the wild mob. Seeing their moment, the agile Privateers jump forward and face the brunt of the strike as the Toren grumble and throw down their cannons to draw steel. Karibash howls, arms outstretched as his men bring his shield and sword.

With the commencement of close combat brings horror unimaginable. The professional and elegant Privateers contrast with the violent and brutal Toren. Taking damage, they withdraw to ready the boats as Karibash provides cover.

The peasants were slaughtered to the last man. So began the plunder of Darfix.

Sharpspeare

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Re: Privateer's Guild
« Reply #3: January 01, 2018, 02:36:25 AM »
Drizztle was seeing to his horse as his new Captain approached. "Captain..." He started. "Didia," she responded,"Captain Didia, Sir." "Ah yes, Captain Didia. What news have you brought me," he asked without ever taking his eyes off his horse. He took pains to see to his horse personally. He trusted his horse with his life, so he felt it only right to see to the horse himself.

Captain Didia hesitated a moment. She was new and had not yet learned that Drizztle wanted his questions responded to immediately. Good or bad, he needed information quick. "Sir, two pieces of news. You have been promoted to Admiral in the Privateer's Guild." Drizztle turned to her at that. An honor he would strive to live up to. The last campaign had gone badly. But he had survived, despite his men abandoning him after roughing him up. It was then that his smile faded. "Two" he said.

Captain Didia nodded her head. "Yes Sir, two pieces of news. The other is that Marshal Barrett has had his leg amputated. His men report that he managed to keep from screaming for the entire operation." After she finished, the look of admiration was still in her eyes for a few moments before her training kicked in and she returned to her passive pose. "Ah, the follies of youth" Drizztle thought as he looked at his captain.

"Send the Marshal a bottle of Red Langor and three bottles of Rum," He ordered. Confusion covered her face. "Rum and Red Langor, Sir?"  Captain Didia asked. Drizztle chuckled at that. "Barrett is a good man. He will not stay down long. He will be back on his feet in no time. He has proven himself 100 times over in the time I've known him. Still, rum to sooth the heart for the loss of the leg." He stated. "And the Red Langor?" the Captain asked. "A man who can keep from screaming while his leg is taken off has earned the best I have." It struck Captain Didia that her commander held great respect for Marshal Barrett. "At once, Sir." And with that she rushed off to see his orders were carried out.

Drizztle turned back to his horse, Waverider. He would have more adventures with Marshal Barrett, Drizztle knew. And he would make sure Waverider would be ready.
"I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is the moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle - victorious" ~ Vince Lombardi

"Allons-y" 10th Doctor