![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Crossing the Rubeh-Con, Part Four
Sep. 5th, 2015 09:32 pmCrossing The Rubeh-Con Part Quatre
The sun is about to dipped where the horizon has become a purple-red wedge of light. The ship coasts upon the current, but action beneath the water is cavitating. The groaning sound from deep inside the island has signalled more shinanigans. The submerged jungle shivers and waves about in head-banging unison. To make matters worse, those on shore have acquired short bows of a composite design and begin to sight upon the vessel. A series of missiles with flaming heads are sent to gauge the distance to their target.
Pete and Rickerson, relieved that they've got all accounted for, rush off towards the wheel to help goose the rudder to assist in drifting towards a beneficial current. The sails flap, trying to catch a wind that is stubborn in playing along. The crew of six has actually become a lucky seven. Not far from where people spread pools of sea water from their bodies, a malnourished stranger, pale and in the remnants of nautical garments, is busy trying to find cover from the 'thwunks' and 'thwacks' that impact the side of the ship.
Gaval lays on his stomach near and behind the main mast. He lays in a pool of sea water dyed pink and red from the diagonal gash across his back, starting at his left shoulder and carved nearly to his waist. The rumbling have woken him from his stupor and he draws his arms underneath himself to try to get up off the deck and back into the fight. "Must get away. The island is a trap. Sinks and lowers to catch ships. They hunt men.. for sport and marriage." His voice is weak but he puts force behind the words to carry across the deck.
( Read More )
The sun is about to dipped where the horizon has become a purple-red wedge of light. The ship coasts upon the current, but action beneath the water is cavitating. The groaning sound from deep inside the island has signalled more shinanigans. The submerged jungle shivers and waves about in head-banging unison. To make matters worse, those on shore have acquired short bows of a composite design and begin to sight upon the vessel. A series of missiles with flaming heads are sent to gauge the distance to their target.
Pete and Rickerson, relieved that they've got all accounted for, rush off towards the wheel to help goose the rudder to assist in drifting towards a beneficial current. The sails flap, trying to catch a wind that is stubborn in playing along. The crew of six has actually become a lucky seven. Not far from where people spread pools of sea water from their bodies, a malnourished stranger, pale and in the remnants of nautical garments, is busy trying to find cover from the 'thwunks' and 'thwacks' that impact the side of the ship.
Gaval lays on his stomach near and behind the main mast. He lays in a pool of sea water dyed pink and red from the diagonal gash across his back, starting at his left shoulder and carved nearly to his waist. The rumbling have woken him from his stupor and he draws his arms underneath himself to try to get up off the deck and back into the fight. "Must get away. The island is a trap. Sinks and lowers to catch ships. They hunt men.. for sport and marriage." His voice is weak but he puts force behind the words to carry across the deck.
( Read More )
