The Sky Pirates (closed)

[DeeperWater]

Background:

July 1889

Space is filled up with luminiferous ether. In 1868, Edison introduced an engine that would allow airships to travel through this ether. He successfully took an airship up to the edge of the atmosphere, where this ether started mixing with the very light air. As a result, he was able to send it test device beyond Earth orbit, because the ether engines kicked in. In space, the balloon is not needed for an airship to fly. It just uses the ether engine to travel. When it lands on one of the four know destinations (Earth, The Moon, Mars and Venus) it has to use the balloon to not crash when it reenters the atmosphere. (1)

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It was not long after his invention was perfected that the Japanese and the Germans both stole plans for his invention. Soon, ether flyers were being produced by many countries. By 1870, all four destinations had been reached and battles had started over who would colonize them. The Japanese managed to gain a toe hold on the jungle planet Venus, and set up colonies and plantations there. Venus was not mineral rich, but it had an abundance of plant life, which resulted in many new medical curse being discovered.

Venus had many strange animals, including large lizards that could be ridden. There was an intelligent race of lizards who stood 3-4 feet tall. They lived in the jungles, hunting and gathering. Their culture is much like the bushmen of New Guinea

The Americans and the British gained a foot hold on Mars. They discovered that the surface was covered with many canals, which had dried up, and the ruins of a once great civilizations. It seems that the civilization was destroyed in some sort of horrible war, because most of the ruins show signs of horrific explosions. Some small desert dwelling animals and plants survive. It seems that some of the Martians did survive, having established a base on Phobos (one of Mar's moons) before their world was destroyed. The underground base on Phobos holds a population of two hundred Martians, who are all direct descendants of those who were on the base.

The base has advanced technology, which rivals the best Earth has to offer. The society that formed is highly ritualized. The population is kept at two hundred exactly. When ever a baby is born, the oldest members must enter ritualistic combat, to determine who will remain, and who will die. They also have laser gun technology which they refuse to share. Though they only a few working space craft. Their space craft are shiny metal rocket ships. They defend their base with laser turrets and all attempts to capture the base have failed.

The Martians at about half a foot taller than humans, on average. Both the men and the women look very much by humans, expect that they have sensitive anti on their foreheads, skin colors ranging from bright green to bring red, and are almost hairless except for on their heads. Everyone has a rank from the age of twelve years old and on, and a function. The station maintains military order and has survived this way for five hundred years. Traditionally, Martians do not wear clothing, except for accessories, such as boots, gloves, hats and sashes. They have no nudity taboo, which has distress many of their Earth visitors.
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On Mars itself, a substance called Claudiatonim was discovered by the explorer Claudia Field. It is a red rock white, when separated from the rock around it, can float. It is being heavily mined now and used to create military ships, which do not need balloons to enter planetary atmospheres. The Germans and the Ameri-English Federation are at war over this mineral. The Germans have captured some key mining facilities and stolen a lot of the product.

The Germans only toehold is on the Moon itself. The Moon is a dead rock, but they have established closed environmental bases, which grow their own plants. From the Moon, they launch their attacks on Mars. The one advantage the Moon has is its strategic location. Currently the Germans are carving out the interior of the Moon to create a larger settlement, which will be self sustaining. There are some valuable minerals on the Moon, but there is no Claudiatonium. As a result, the majority of German vessels still use balloons, though they do not need them when setting down on the Moon itself.

There are ships which travel between Earth, Venus and Mars, carrying goods. There are also pirates of every nation, always on the lookout for easy prey. Some are simply pirates, but others are privateers, commissioned by their governments to capture enemy ships.

On all the planets, floating battle platforms have become more common. An entire network of floating platforms exist on Earth, some miles wide. Entire villages and towns can be found on some of the biggest, with crops being raised and livestock as well. Some of these islands in the sky have become havens for pirates. Many of Earth's nations now have them, but only the Japanese, the Germans and the Ameri-English own property out of Earth's atmosphere.

(1) This idea was borrowed from the game Space 1889.

 

[DeeperWater]

Name: Captain Skylark (Justin Alexander Sutton)
Rank: Ship's Captain of the Skylark's Delight, a large pirate airship
Career: Sky Pirate
Age: 22
Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 178
Build: Long and lean
Hair: Dirty brown and past his shoulder, though he often ties it up. He also has a trim beard.
Attire: He dresses in a wide variety of colorful attire, but he always has his goggles on his forehead.

The Skylark's Delight was sailing above Australia, headed to the sky island Dark Harbor, a notorious den of villainy. She had a single massive air bag with was as long as four air balloons. Below that, on rope, hung a gondola which was modeled to resemble an old sailing vessel, right down the carved mermaid on the prow. Her gun decks boosted twenty four muzzled loaded cannon and her crew number fifty hail and hearty sailors.

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Captain Skylark stood on the quarter deck, watching the clouds slide by them. They had recently assaulted an Australian merchant ship, and were now laden down with crates full of watch parts and crates of fruits. It was not their best take, but the crew was restless. Recently the pickings had been slim, as pirate hunters had started protecting many of the more important merchant ships.

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He was a tall, lanky man with shaggy hair somewhere between brown and blond. Today it hung loose about his shoulders. On his forehead was a pair of goggles and in his hand was a spyglass. He wore baggy white pants, black knee length boots and had a red sash tied around his waist. A golden hoop hung from his right ear.

Ten years ago he had been a cabin boy aboard an English merchant ship. He had grown up in an orphanage, without ever knowing who his real parents were. The Sutton House gave the abandoned infant a name, taking the name of the house on as his surname. While there, he was always in trouble. He roamed the streets picking pockets and getting nabbed by the constables. When he turned twelve, the orphanage had about all they could take of him, so the director apprenticed hip to ship's captain, as a cabin boy.

On his first voyage, the ship was captured by the pirate ship Skylark, under the command of the dreaded Barton Morton. He took a shin to the boy and spared his life. Skylark joined the crew and blossomed under the Captain's tutelage.

He grew through the ranks until he was nineteen years old. He was a young officer, when the crew mutinied. He managed to help stop the mutiny, but the Captain was mortally wounded. On his death bed, he handed his cutlass to Skylark and proclaimed him Captain, giving his the name Captain Skylark. The crew, or those that were still alive, accepted this, and a legend was born.

As the ship speed along, Captain Skylark spotted a small airship off the port bow, some half mile below them. It was to tiny to be a merchant ship and looked to be a yacht. It had not gas bag, but floated under the power of Claudiatonium. It was shaped like a wooden bullet and traveling along at a high rate of speed. Even if there was not cargo, there might be some VIP on board, who they could ransom.

"Step lively lads and lasses! There be a pretty little honey pot below us, and I'm aim to stick in me finger!" The ship dived out of the clouds, toward it's prey.

OOC: You can be on either ship and be anyone that works for you.

 

[DormantEvil]

Name: Cynthia Brown
Rank: Pilot
Career: Mercenary and Messenger
Age: 19
Height: 5' 6"
Weight: 130lbs
Build: Athletic
Hair: Raven black hair, usually pinned high on her head or tucked under her flight helmet and goggles.
Attire: Thigh high leather boots, tight fitting dark pants and a large belt that supports her sidearm. Her torso is framed by puffy black high collar shirt, white detailed corset vest, elbow length black gloves and brown leather harnessing. During flight she wears a brown high collared cold weather jacket.

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Cynthia Brown worked out of Melbourne running errands and messengers between the ground, and the floating battle platforms and other dens of sin. She worked long hours, and got paid well for her quick flying and her skills in evading the local and international pirates. For now she was on a simple mission. Her bag was filled with important manuscripts and documents. Nothing important enough for pirates to want. Something about written orders for bridge building, flight paths and docking security. There was only the coin in her purse, and the weapons on herself and the forward gun of her airship. It was recently filled up with Claudiatonium and coal, using a mixture of steam and weightlessness to fly. She was a simple mercenary pilot, usually sticking to legal practices to make her wage.

The Australian Military had approached her many times asking for her to enlist as a pilot, and every time she had turned them down. Until they conscripted, she was sticking to flying for her own reasons, not someone else's.

Her airship was built for speed and maneuverability. It was light and small. It could carry two people and a small amount of cargo in the side bays, but nothing bigger than a few suitcases.

Right then she was passing through a cloud bank when she spied the pirate craft closing in on her position.

"Great, another person wanting to waste my time, and fuel." Every evasive flight cost her more money in supplies and maintenance of her vessel.

Gunning the engine, she pulled her goggles down and increased speed, decreasing her Claudiatonium levels. Her ebony hair whipped around her face in the strong breeze. Previously she had been traveling at a comfortable and efficient pace. But now she wanted to remain out of gun range, and getting as much speed was her concern now. With a quick tilt of her controls the vessel dipped its nose and sped straight down towards the ground, building up more speed, and disappeared into another bank of clouds. The best reason for the mixed Claudiatonium and steam power was that it didn't have a large air balloon restricting such moves.

A normal airship was restricted to slower turns, more gracious descents and ascents. She could almost do a vertical climb, although it usually meant that she would blow pipes up and would rapidly lose pressure and forward propulsion. Most times she tried she ended up simply sitting in the air, floating, but unable to move. Going down was easy, it was simply falling until she had to level out, thats when her vessel was under pressure.

Coming out of the cloud bank, she rolled to the right and leveled out. Aiming to bank around and broadside the pirate vessel out of gun range. Then she would continue on her way to the docks. Where she might still get paid the bonus for getting their on time. Once in the next cloud bank, she held the controls with her knee and removed her rifle from its holster inside the cockpit. Breaking the barrel she inserted a silver tube and locked it shut again. The lower barrel contained an incendiary round, which was useful for igniting airship balloons. If they did open fire, then she would attempt to do the same. Slipping it back into the holster, she quickly checked that her sidearm was also loaded, with normal ammunition. If they tried to capture her ship, she would attempt to board theirs.

 

[DeeperWater]

The Skylark's Delight did it's best to track the movements of the smaller craft. There was only a short window from when you spotted in and went after it, before it spotted you and tried to escape. Large merchant ships were easy prey, but tiny craft were a bitch and a half to capture.

Captain Skylark ran to the prow himself, and shoved aside the sailor manning the harpoon. The harpoon, modeled after the weapon used to hunt whales on the ocean, was a nasty explosive driven device, which launched a bloody big barbed spike at the prey, while trailing a thick rope behind it. It was a dangerous business, to be sure. If you hit a craft's air bag, the craft was likely to crash, and might take your craft with it. The harpoon would catch in the ripped canopy and the dying craft would drag you to Earth. If you could hit the gondola, and it stuck, then you could send me down the rope, or start to wench the other craft in. Even then though, it was a dangerous prospect. If the winds buffeting the crafts were different, then the line could be a real danger. Still, being a pirate was taking risks.

The captain turned the cranks to move the harpoon and tracked the smaller craft, letting loose just as it was about to be lost to them. There was a terrible sound of metal hitting wood as the harpoon hit and then a downward lurch as the smaller craft's descent pulled on the Skylark. He immediately yelled at his me to turn the wench to bring the craft closer. Two burly sailors jumped to work and stared cranking away. The small craft started moving toward them, but whoever was flying was still fighting and it was like trying to reel in a trout who was pissed at his own fate.

After ten tense minutes, the craft was near enough to start throwing ropes at it, to lash it to the Skylark. The crew grabbed lassos and started swirling them over their heads, aiming for likely targets on the small craft.

ooc: I may change the name of my ship. Captain Skylark of the Skylark is becoming cumbersome.

 

[DormantEvil]

As lasso's started to swirl in the air, the men found a bullet quickly lodged in their chests. Mortal shots unless someone on board new how to repair lungs and hearts alike. Five men were wounded with one miss, and Cynthia was cursing the winds for not carrying her faster away. The harpoon had stuck good and tight, and they had pulled her in quicker than she had been able to arc around and wrap the line around their airship. Holding onto her controls, she fought hard to lose them, but the pressure gauges were about to pop. So she idled the engines to preserve them and changed her tactics. Running wasn't working apparently.

Holding her pistol out, she shot most of the men trying to catch her vessel but one of them managed to loop the rope around the back fin of her craft. Holstering her pistol, she removed her rifle from its holster and aimed at the main loop of ropes that kept the front of their ship connected to the gondola. She hoped to hit the rope at the side of the balloon, above where the smaller ropes connected into, and where if broken the large one that went over the top of the balloon like a saddle did a horse would be cut. If she could sever that bundle which seemed to be the best bet to disrupt their vessel, then she could work at detaching the harpoon and flee.

Pulling the trigger, the incendiary round burst forth from the barrel and hit its mark. By now she was no more than twenty meters away from the gondola. To begin with she noticed many ropes beginning to fray from the simple projectile quality. Then smoke started to be produced and the ropes ignited as the chemicals within the capsule mixed and reacted. They burned hotter than normal fire.

With that, she holstered the rifle, and gunned the engine again, pulling them downward if doing anything at all. Hoping to add to the stress on the front of their ship and aid in ripping the ropes apart. If they were quick, and could extinguish the now burning mess within half a minute (if that), they might keep their vessel stable. If not, the ropes would snap, sending the gondola hanging from its back and weaker middle supports. Pitched forwards it would take time to repair. And they would be unable to follow her in her limp home with any certainty.

Already she could tell that they had punctured her Claudiatonium tank. And the fluid was dripping out into the bottom of her craft, she tried to hide this from them by increasing her gauges as the pressures decreased. Holding her controls with one hand and one knee, she reloaded her pistol clumsily and looked back over her shoulder to see how the fires were doing. With a shaky aim, she took a shot at the rope that was stopping her tail from being free. There was the screams of metal bending and cutting, as she watched the harpoon point opening the side of her craft more. Maybe if it continued a bit more, she could pull it free. Another shot and the rope around her tail was cut slightly, but not enough to have the man find himself holding a rope and nothing else.

((OOC: That sounds cool. And I hope you don't mind me fighting a bit more. Getting captured too easily seems like a shame.))

 

[DeeperWater]

Skylark realized he was loosing his prey and started cursing. Not only was he losing the potential prize, but he had just lost good men and women! Whoever that pilot was, he was a hell of a crack shot and would have those deaths to answer for!

As it was, he was in danger of losing his harpoon as well. It was custom made and expensive as virgin at a whore house. With the lack of regard for personal safety which was the hallmark of so many pirates captains, he threw a leather strap over the rope binding the crafts together and jumped off into space.

The other craft was enough below them to make the tactic work, but it worked almost too well. He found himself rocketing feet first a big hole which had formed in the hull of the other craft. The other craft rushed at him and he let go and dropped through the rent in its side. A jagged piece of wood cut across his right thigh deep enough to need stitches and his boots hit the ship's deck with an impact he could feel up his spine. Still, he was aboard, rather than having to his dead below.

He barely had time to pull his cutlass from his belt, when the pilot attacked him. He didn't have time to register more than a passing wonder that a woman had killed so many of his crew, before she was swinging the barrel of her gun at his head deadly grace and precision. He fell back, blocking wildly and realizing that this was not easy prey.

The crew had grabbed the lassos of the downed sailors, and were securing the lines now. It would only half a minute before they could swarm the smaller craft, but Skylark feared that this would be just long enough for him to die, if he did not find a way to subdue the pilot.

"Give up ya scallywag! There be to many of us for ya to fight. A bloody good job ya've done killin' me crew, but yer luck has run out now and we'll be sendin' ya ta Davey Jone's Cloud if ya don't surrender!" Skylark, like most pirates, grew to talk like a pirate, the longer he was one. Pirate speak was the same from Ontario, to South America to Australia, and every bloody pirate sounded like he was in a 1950s Errol Flynn movie. SKylark was not exception, though he only tended to break into 'pirate speak' when he was shouting commands, or making demands.

 

[DormantEvil]

Finding someone on her vessel, with a thump and a rather ungracious entry, Cynthia unstrapped herself and lunged backwards from her seat. The interior of her craft was small, had only two seats behind hers, and then some open space behind it. Her pistol was brought to bear, having given up on cutting the rope with bullets as she had already wasted three in the attempt. It barely missed the side of his head, and she quickly followed up by bringing her elbow down on the back of the hand that clutched at a cutlass. Bloody pirates. They were all the same. Bad speech. Bad breath. Bad attitude. Old weapons. But even an old weapon was still deadly, and she hoped to incapacitate his hand.

Grinning, she kicked open the door on the opposite side of the harpoon. And moved away from him.

He spoke of giving up, but would he in her position. Having someone foreign on his vessel. Trying to take it over, probably to cut it to pieces and kill her through various violent and sinister methods. No. Giving up would be death as far as she knew. She would prefer to jump.

Stepping backwards towards the door, she began to holster her pistol and reached for the pull string of her small parachute. It was made of silk, and was yet to utilize the vented system. This made it very unstable at such altitude reducing her chances of surviving the jump. Her smile seemed like one of a man before taking a plung off a cliff. He may or may not survive. But the risk was worth it. Death was better than not jumping.

"Surrender is no better than dying at your hands, bastard. I just hope I've slowed your vessel enough for the Military to catch up."

Her hand reaching to brace herself on the insulated lines that led to the steam tanks. Instantly she felt her craft hit the side of the gondola as the men secured it. The bump was harsh, and the craft rolled from side to side. It was enough to tip her off balance, mid holstering. Her feet slid out from under her and she pitched forwards, hitting her head on the doorway before collapsing unconscious on his legs. Her pistol still clutched strongly in her hand for a brief moment before it dropped to the floor.

A trickle of blood seeped from the wound in her forehead, adding to the already bloody thigh he sported.

 

[DeeperWater]

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Jefferson Smyth watched as the captive came awake again. She was strapped down to a bunk in the sick bay, with leather lashes around her feet, her thighs, below her chest and across her shoulders. The straps were usually used to hold crew members down while he amputated a limb, or dug out a bullet, but they served to keep the prisoner in place as well.

There was a white bandage wrapped around her head like a turban, with a bit of blood seeping through. Smyth hadn't been able to wake her, and she had been out for almost an hour now. He had worried at first that she had some internal bleeding or the knock had bruised her brain, but when her eyelids fluttered open, he felt relief. Captain Skylark was pretty pissed right now. He wouldn't have liked it if she had died, before he had a chance to kill her.

Capturing her ship had lost him a total of seven experience crew members, with one falling overboard when her ship had cause the Delight to lurch. Her cargo had proven to be fairly worthless dispatches, which couldn't be sold and weren't detailed enough to provide a hope of robbing one of the heavily defended Australian commercial docks. The woman herself was obviously no one important. She was a courier, and no one would be paying a ransom for her. Even though the Delight had won the day, she had cost them dearly.

Smyth, the ship's medic, was a short, muscular man with dramatically spiked hair rising above a hair of golden goggles. He wore a tight leather vest with straps across the front and was puffing on a light pipe.

Next to him, sitting on another bunk, was woman in a tight leather corset with a white bodice which she filled rather well. She had a roundish sort of face and a pilot's helmet on. Her name was Rowena Holland and she was the first officer, ever since she challenged the last first officer to a duel and stabbed his straight through the heart with her blade. As she spoke, her Texas accent was evident. Unlike the rest of the crew, she had always refused to use 'pirate speak'.

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"Looks like she's gonna live after all Doc. Better go get the Captain." She pushed herself off of the bunk and stood.

Smyth rolled his eyes upwards. "While your at Ro, make that fool show you his fucking stitches. I never did see why he brought me aboard, if he was going to doctor himself." Ro nodded and walked toward the door, but not before walking over to the prisoner and giving her a slap across the face.

"Finish waking up bitch!" Her voice sounded almost bright and cheerful.

Smyth walked over to the prisoner and looked down at her. "Sorry about that, but you just shot Rosco, and she and him been bumping uglies the last few weeks. She'll be moody until she breaks in someone else. Actually, It might have been better if you just died. The Cap ain't to happy." His accent was hard to place, since he had been traveling the globe his entire life, but his tone was a warm baritone, which floated out from the clouds of pipe smoke circling his face.

 

[DormantEvil]

Her eyes seemed heavy, as if lead was attached to them and holding them shut. Flickering they opened just enough for the dim light to flood into them, causing her to roll her head from side to side. People were speaking, and there was a smell of pipe smoke in the air which irritated her. It took her a few minutes and a hearty slap across the face before she regained enough consciousness to glance up at the man speaking with her. She spied the woman leaving the room, and had the uncontrollable urge to joke.

"Uglies is right..." she muttered once the woman was out of earshot. Her head throbbing and she tried to raise a hand to check her condition. It was then that she noticed her body was restrained. Looking down, she noticed each leather strap and groaned, testing them for weaknesses. Like an animal testing her cage. But the doctor apparently kept those in good condition, because they held secure and tight.

The light made the goggles the doctor wore sparkle occasionally, and it drew her attention back to him. He spoke to her about it having been better to be dead. Well, until the fall she had thought the exact same thing. And now, was even more determined to not give him the pleasure. But there was nothing to do, unless she bit off her tongue or something. Which, was not the first step.

"I'm not too happy either, so we're even. As far as I'm concerned, he got what was coming...seems the risk associated with trying to attack and take another vessel. Does it not?"

Huffing, she closed her eyes for a moment and turned her head to look around the room. Of course they had removed her pistol, who wouldn't have. But she was still dressed, and her boots and gloves were still in place. So far she seemed better off, minus the pain that seared every time she moved, than the Captain and his vessel.

"I'm guessing he'll be even more pissed I'm just a simple courier...no treasure, not even an important document worth wiping his ass with. No company to ransom. My ship's probably only useful as scrap now too, bloody pricks." She spat at the ground as much as she could, not actually using saliva but more just to show her distaste. Calming down, she turned her attention back to the doctor and smiled slyly.

"So...have I made your day more busy?"

Somewhere she could hear the sounds of footsteps, they got closer over time and she prepared herself.

 

[DeeperWater]

Smyth scratched his chin. "Did you make my day busy? Na, you just shot up half a dozen crewmembers. Don't worry though. Five were already to far gone to bother with, one is somewhere in Australia now, or at least what was left of him after he hit the ground and one is laying right over there" He gestured over his shoulder to another bunk, where a figure was covered with a cloth. "But she only survive for a half hour or so."

Suddenly the door opened and Captain Skylark walked in. He was wearing a pair of pants, cut-off as short. On his leg was a deep, nasty gash, sown together with forty neat black stitches. He had pulled his hair back under a purple bandana and was bare chested. Around his waist was a thick black belt with rapier in a scabbard. One of his hands hand bandages around it.

He was walking slowly, being careful with his injured leg, but he showed no pain or emotion. He walked right up the the captive woman and stood over her, glaring.

He looked over at Smyth. This was were he usually said something like 'I am Captain Skylark and ye be me prisoner!' It was usually enough to impress the simple minded and at least get the smart one's listening up, so that he could deliver his ultimatum. Instead, he improvised. "What's the good word Doc? Is she strong enough to put under the lash, or should we just chuck her over the side?"

 

[DormantEvil]

Letting her gaze fall to the dead womans covered body, Cynthia found it both flattering in a way and depressing. Taking lives was not unusual, but by all accounts she despised having to do it, especially when forced to through self defense. But at least she would not leave this world knowing she had been taken easily. In fact, six of them for her life, plus pissing the Captain of the vessel off and opening his body to possible infections wasn't a bad ratio. Again, it was flattering.

Watching as the Doctor moved aside a bit for the Captain, Cynthia couldn't help but bite her bottom lip to stop from mentioning if the mans leg and hand hurt. Instead she held her tongue, for a little bit at least. In the end, she had been captured, and no amount of smart ass comments would change that fact. Even if it would help to bring her a possibly swifter death, on the other side it could bring about a very slow and painful one. Depending on how the man thought.

At the mention of the lash, or throwing her overboard, she scoffed and mumbled to herself. Hiding her distaste at both ideas.

"Well I was trying to do that myself..."

Turning away, she sighed and lay there, wishing they would either begin her 'punishment' or bring about her death. Of course, it was also her way of dealing with pressure. She wasn't looking forward to a lashing, especially by pirates who were often more brutal than the military when it came to punishments. Not always, but very commonly. But then again, without her parachute she really didn't find the idea of getting tossed off the airship any better.

Turning back to him, she spoke clearly. "So, why did you even think a courier was worth all this trouble? The most I could have is a few coins and a vital document on me. And that is a best case scenario. I'm not a cargo ship, or one of the larger courier transports. I'm basically a foot runner. Now you are down crew members, have a damaged airship, and have lost time. Even if I'm about to die, it seems I came out ahead in this situation."

 

[DeeperWater]

The captain rubbed his chin for a moment and sighed. "You have the truth of it. This has been a bad bargain all around. My first mate wants to strip you, whip you and then gut you, but she always has been a woman of uneven tempers."

He turned to the medic. "Doc, give us a few moments alone." Smyth nodded walked out the door but added "Don't turn your back on yer back on 'er Captain. She's a rattlesnake."

He grabbed a chair dragged it over to the bunch. He sat down facing her and stared at her intently. "So then, what new bargain can we strike to even out the scales? I have lost some of my very best men and have nothing to show for it. The true is, I am Captain by the will of the crew and by the strength of my sword arm. Victories, which are in reality defeats are bad for morale. To many of these weakens me."

He scratched at his chin again thoughtfully. "I see two courses of action here. I can relieve the crew's distress and that of my first mate, by making a show of your death. I can satisfy them by letting them use and abuse you, before finding some slow and amusing way for you to die. I would take no pleasure in this of course. Such things are distasteful, but needful at times. The other alternative is to appeal to justice. It is the right of any captive taken in honorable combat to petition the captain to become one of the crew. The captain can refuse, of course, or accept their petition. He or she can also require them to prove themselves in combat, to be deemed worth of a place on the crew. You will be taken on deck for judgement, after we talk here. If you petition me for a place on the crew, then I will allow my first mate the pleasure of attempting to kill you in honorable combat, or leastwise as honorable as possible when you find yourself fighting such a bitch. If you win, you can take her place. She has been useful and effective, but times are that I fear her ambition extends to taking the ship for herself."

 

[DormantEvil]

A rattlesnake, he spoke truth in those words...but even they required their bodies to be able to move to strike, unless she spat at him. Which was always an option, but not a very effective one. Listening to him speaking, she relaxed a little with his change of tone. It was more matter of fact, as if he was giving her a straight description of the situation. Anger and hate put aside for a moment, although she knew it was in there somewhere.

"So basically, at the end of the day, all bullshit aside. It's a fight to the death. You kill me slow and painfully in the most disgusting and violating of ways, or I cut the bitches head off in combat. To be honest, Captain Skylark...there isn't much of a choice in this. It's plain to see that I'll attempt to fight, rather than submit. Even if I've got the same chance of dying either way."

Tilting her head up, she looked at his stitches and smiled.

"You know your Doctor feels you think him unnecessary, since you do his job with less finesse yourself. Maybe if you gave them more importance in their roles, personally showing you needed them sometimes, there would be less talk of mutiny."

Deciding to stop analyzing his crew, she waved her hand a little for him to notice.

"I'll request the opportunity, as is a right of a captive, to challenge your First Mate. A fight to the death, with life, title and position as reward. Since I am in no place to demand, she can choose her weapon of choice and I will made do with whatever that is. If I win, I can then let you in on a little secret...but, I'll keep it as your reward for taking a gamble on my worth."

Her last few words were a gamble in themselves, but this man seemed to take risks often. And he also seemed to have a rather comical side to him, but also a serious one. If he already doubted his First Mate, then risking her for a possible surprise afterwards might tip his decision in her favor. Or he could torture her to find out. Risks were risks. She was just eloquent about them.

 

[DeeperWater]

posted on a phone- please forgive mistakes- will fix

Skylark gave her a tired smile as he stood painfully to his feet. "You are already giving counsel and the duel has not yet been won. You will need to make your request in front of the crew. She will likely avoid firearms, since we all witnessed your skill with them. I suspect she will choose knives or cutlasses. I warn you that she's a dangerous foe and that I don't expect for you to survive, but I hope that you do. Otherwise I will never find out your secret."

He reached down and unlatched the clasp under her chest and then the open over her shoulders. "I am going to give you time to get your circulation back, but please do not attempt any foolishness. He moved down and undid the clasps over her thighs and her feet as well.

"I'll have to bind your hands again when we go on deck, but after you request the challenge we'll free them again." After a few minutes he picked up a rope and pulled Georgia's hands behind her back. He had admired how the bounds had enhanced her figure when she was tied down and he had the same reaction again, but attempted to ignore it. "Walk in front of me. I'm going to have to shove you when we get on deck, so be prepared.

 

[DormantEvil]

Climbing down off the table as her binding were undone, she fought the urge to fight back. It would be a good time to attempt to flee, although she didn't know how switched on the Doctor would be, and if he merely waited in the hallway. With the Captain injured, she could kick him in the thigh right on his stitches and shoulder him in the chest to unbalance him. Maybe even step on his throat enough to cause significant damage and suffocate him. But she didn't know how to get off the ship, her craft by now would be secured somewhere or tossed aside as useless weight.

So going up onto the deck was her best bet. And fighting for a First Mate position wasn't that unflattering, in fact she would enjoy some pay back for the slap earlier. She already knew what she was going to say at some point during the fight. Although not well trained with a sword, revolvers, pistols and rifles being her preference in combat, she hoped to use her hand to hand skill to even the odds.

Heading up a flight of stairs as they moved upwards, she smiled to herself and muttered.

"I shall flounder splendidly, oh Captain. And your crew can marvel at the brutality and harshness, I'll even endure a few lashes if it grants you better respect. If you grant me one favor. My vessel is mine, if I survive. Even if I have to remain as your First Mate."

It wasn't long before she could smell the fresh air and feel the breeze. It appeared the last few steps lay ahead, and then she would be put to the test. Her skills tested in mortal combat, for the entertainment of the crew.

"Also, do the crew wish to see one of us grovel and beg, or be violated publicly? Or would you not like to add that to the table in case I do win, and your First Mate is disrespected so in front of the crew."

Pausing at the top of the stairs, she looked out at the men and women that gathered before explaining her question.

"I'd like to win over the crew, if I am to become one of them..."

 

[DeeperWater]

internet down- another phone post- sorry

The Captain lead her through the door into the narrow wooden hallway. The doctor was at the end of the hall. Skylark shoved her hard to get her moving. "Move yer bloomin' arse bitch!" The doctor nodded and went above deck.

"Sorry about that love." Skylark helped her right herself and lead her down the hallway. "Right, we are headed up to the deck. If you win, your craft is yours. It's lashed to the hull and small enough that it isn't a bother. It needs repairs though and the crew won't be wanting to pay for that." He stood behind her and pulled her bonds a bit tighter, before taking a pair or manacles from a peg on the wall. "You have to wear these also, or they will never buy it." He bent and secured them on her ankles, though he knew this put him in a vulnerable situation. He figured that if she was going to attack him again, she already would have."

They reached the steps up to the deck. The manacles limited Cynthia's movements, so that the steps were only just possible. The sunlight swept down at her and Skylark, through the opening. "I will have to lash you a few times, as the general course of these things go. After that, I'll give you a chance to plead for your life, before throwing you to the dogs, as it were. They would never violate a fellow crew member. My crews mixed between the sexes and I cut the manhood off any man what buggers another without his leave, or forces his attentions on a crew sister. Punishments never involve that. Still, if you wanted to offer yourself on deck, to let the crew have their way with you, as a gesture of good will as the new first mate, they wouldn't complain I'm guessing. I'm not certain it would engender their respect though."

He suddenly wrapped a cloth around her head, stuffing it in her mouth and tied it behind her head. Skylark bodily lifted her and almost ran up the last few steps with her, before throwing her harshly across the deck of the ship. He came up from the hold and held his fist in the air. "Skylark's Delight. I, Captain Skylark give ye scurvy dogs yer prisoner! This be the bloody harpy what murdered yer brethren! What shall we do with 'er!"

Many suggestions were shouted, but the loudest was a call to lash her and then bugger her. It was as Skylark expected. A pirate captain's position was not like that of a royal air naval captain. He or she had to know the direction her crew desired, and lead them in that direction, or end up on the wrong end of a mutiny. He would do his best to limit the lashing though, especially since he would need the prisoner ship shape to take over her new duties, if she survived the challenge.

"Strip 'er and lash 'er to the mast!" He gestured dramatically as he jumped onto a barrel. These theatrics were expected. Two burly crewmen wan forward and lifted the prisoner bodily from the deck.

 

[DormantEvil]

The impact with the wooden deck was a harsh one and it knocked the wind out of her. Without her hands she had shouldered the flooring rather ungraciously. The cheers had gone up as was expected, and with a groan she rolled over onto her side. Pushing at the gag, her tongue managed to dislodge it enough to spit it out. It rolled down and lay under the nape of her neck. Already with a bloody lip from the fall. Licking at it, the warm nickel taste was strong and as it pooled in her mouth slowly, she soon spat it out on the deck. Listening to him speaking to his men, it was obvious that he required the strong handed approach of more fear based respect. It would mean she also had to take on this approach, or be seen as inferior and weak. But for now she wanted to be seen as a weakling courier woman. So she groaned and gave in to the pain in her shoulder.

"Bastards, the lot of you. Especially your filthy Captain, haven't you ever learned manners you swine." It was a sombre statement, considering she had just been picked up by the two men carrying her towards the mast. This is when she fired up a little, with the first sound of ripping cloth. They better have a change of clothing if they can't even keep hers intact. No finesse.

"Get off me you stupid lug heads..." she cried out, kicking one of them between the legs with her strapped together ones. Using the fact another man held her off the ground to get the momentum. But although she wanted to laugh loud at his discomfort she continued to thrash about. Obviously not liking the idea of a lashing. Soon, with one final tear she was removed of her upper clothing. The black blouse she wore lay in shreds on the ground, and her webbing and vest was tossed aside with little concern.

This is about the time someone would start to tear up, right?

Pondering that for a moment, Cynthia decided to turn the waterworks on just a little, and turned her head away from the crews view. As if hiding her embarrassment and discomfort, and feeling of abuse. Her breasts were ample, especially for her line of work, and they hung plump and bouncing off her smooth and pale chest. She had no distinguishing marks apart from one scar running from the left of her navel around to her side to stop just near the top of her hip. It was a thin scar, healed over many years ago and was a simple white line. Other than that, her skin was porcelain smooth and unmarked.

A few tears ran down her cheeks, and splashed against her chest, causing several hoots of enjoyment and disgusting statements to be cheered from the crowd. Inside she just smiled, knowing that this would be mighty painful, but that afterwards she might get her chance to accidentally kill a few of those filthy men during the duel.

She felt hands on her hips, and then the cool breeze blew against her uncovered thighs as her pants were removed. Her boots easy enough to rip off and toss aside. One more scar became visible, an old would on the inside and outside of one thigh. The exit wound of a small caliber gun it might seem. Again, her skin seemed as smooth and soft as a doll, and pale. She was bound up tightly, exposed for the lashing and she fell silent now. As if resolved to her fate. Parts of her pinned up hair were now coming loose, and long lengths of soft ebony fell down around her shoulders and upon her breasts.

And although she fought the urge to fell obscenities at some groping done by the man she had kicked earlier, she instead sobbed once. "Please don't." Knowing it would simply cause her to appear even weaker and pathetic. She needed that upper hand for the fight, if this First Mate was superior to herself with a cutlass or knife.

((No problem, the posts are fine. I'm enjoying this.))

 

[DeeperWater]

One man lay on the deck clutching himself, but three more took his place. The men wrestled her toward the central mast. It wasn't really a mast as such, put it was a thick pole at the center of the ship the crew could climb to gain access to the gas bag above. They undid her hands and pulled them roughly over her head and lashed them to the mast. Her hands were on either side of it and immobile. She swung forward in the process and her breast smashed roughly into the wood, before they pulled her back again and pulled her legs apart, after removing the manacles. They tied each ankle to a hook on the deck, leaving her legs parted a forty-five degree angle. This left her tipped forward with just enough give to thrash about, but without the ability to defend herself.

Skylark took the lash from the hands of a man and stalked toward her. She had a lovely for, to be sure, and he hated to mare it with his lash. Despite her few scars, her skin was flawless and needed caressed, rather than whipped. Still, there wasn't a choice. The crew would never accept not punishing one who had killed so many of their own.

He walked to her front and leaned down slightly to look her in the face. He whispered. "Sorry lass."

Coming around in back of her again, he ran his rough lash down her back, until it slide down the cleft of her rear. "So ya Hell bound bastards! This bitch killed your very own, and ye've demanded she be flogged with me lash, before ye flog her with yer cocks!" He ran a hard hand down her ass and cupped it for a moment, before pulling back and smacking it as hard as he could. The sound of his palm on her flesh echoed off the hull and made the men cheer. He slide his hand down between her thighs and dragged it up, sliding his fingers through her lips and out the outside of her cleft, before smacking her again.

He stepped back and brought the lash back, determined to only hit her beautiful back, and so save her perfect buttocks, be a hand grabbed the lash as he swung.

"Nay Captain! It be my right! The whore shot me man, right through 'is bloody eyeball! I demand my rights! The code must be honored!" His first mate ripped the lash from his hands and held it over her head, to the deafening cheers of his crew.

This wasn't a good turn of events. She had the crew behind her on his, but if she whipped the prisoner to hard, then no challenge could be possible. Still, there was little he could due to stop it, without challenging his first officer to a dual himself. It would be more than bad form. It would be bad leadership to show compassion and fight for the prisoner, when she had cost them so much.

With a heavy heart, Skylark backed up and allowed the first mate her privilege and her duty.

 

[DormantEvil]

Cynthia shuddered with each smack across her ass, his hand print turning red within moments. The lashes felt cold against her skin, and she couldn't help but find them tickling between her cheeks stimulating. Her breasts were sore enough from hitting the mast to find themselves firming up, but luckily the breeze was doing that. Hearing the turn of events, Cynthia breathed in deeply and glanced over her shoulder to see the First Mate take the honors of lashing her. For a moment, Cynthia was fearful but then she opened her mouth and yelled loudly. Before a lash could be planted on her back. Hopefully if the challenge went out, it might leave enough room for a less brutal lashing. She ignored how his rough fingers brushing across her womanhood made her loins spasm. But anyone touching her there did that. He had no power over her, different to that of any other.

"Then I challenge you, bitch! A duel. To the fucking death. And let your severity of lashing show your true nature. Leave me with enough strength to fight on equal terms, or lash me until I am not capable of giving you a decent fight. A coward are you? To make me incapable of giving the crew a decent show against you. Or a woman who knows she's strong enough to kill me, and let them see a fight of strength...let the crew see who you really are.

Perhaps the Captain should decide...I'm sure his opinion of your skill level will determine the severity of lashing. Since the challenge has already been issued...do you accept? Or do you fear your life too much against me."

The Captain could issue a lashing to kill her, showing he felt the First Mate was incapable of winning the fight on equal terms. Or, he would give her a decent lashing but leave her with enough energy and strength to have the fight competitive.

Spitting on the ground, she tensed up her hands and turned away from the First Mate. Smiling for a while before preparing herself for the lashing. Which would come, in some form. At least if she lost she wouldn't have to see her poor ship. And if she won, well she would have her life still. But she really wanted to be free of these bindings, free to start to get some anger out on this woman...who obviously enjoyed the shagging a little too much.

"Let's just hope the crew enjoys a good fight to the death."

 

[DeeperWater]

Skylark saw the look on his first mate's face, and knew her to be a vicious little shit. She would whip the woman within and inch of her life and then walk up and finish her off. He grabbed the whip from her hand and when she tried to take it back, he gave her an uppercut to her jaw, while threw her on her rear end.

"Stay there! The challenge is valid!"

He took the lash and walked over to the prisoner. He knew he couldn't go to easy on her. Despite wanting to recope his losses, she still had killed his men. He wouldn't punish her in anger, but she would be punished. He decided six lashes would be enough to leave marks and make her feel the full agony, but not enough to remove her hide or keep her from defending herself.

He lifted the lash in his hands and whipped it over the deck twice, being sure of his feel of it. It was designed like a bullwhip, but without so much narrowing at the end. The twisted leather strands were strong together and would leave nasty welts at first and then worse, as the flesh was broken and bleeding.

The first lash came down across her back, crossing front her right shoulder toward her left hip. A second followed it, crossing it from the other direction. Skylark made sure to leave enough time in between each lash so that the prisoner had to think about the next one coming, rather than just enduring constant pain. If she did win the fight, and became the first mate, he did not want her to think him weak, least she to challenge him.

The lashing continued, as Cynthia's body bucked under the last, thought she took it as well as any man he had ever seen. Each lash left a bright red welt across her pale back. The last two opened up the skin, causing blood to course down it, but not so much that she would bleed top death.

After the last lash he came around beside her and looked at her. Despite himself, he couldn't help looking at her heaving breasts. "The challenge must be met know, do you understand?" He cut the bonds on her feet first, and then on her wrists, ready to catch her if she fainted.

 

[DormantEvil]

With each lash her body jerked and she tensed up, her legs wobbling after the first few. Then she could feel the pain change from burning as the welts changed to tearing of flesh. And she cried out more from the shock of the hits than of their damage. Each one sent her into a cold sweat, and each one marked her skin so she would remember. And as the last one fell across her back she let out a shriek, her hands tight in balls to stop herself from making any more noise. Her legs did feel a little weak, and she hung off her arms as her legs slowly found themselves again. Hanging her head, she fought to control the urge to let more than the few tears that had forced themselves down her face out.

Curse him, and curse his whore of a First Mate. Curse all of them. Bastards. Rapists. Murderers. I pray they get their due!

Breathing to control herself, she raised her eyes to look at him as he approached her. Her eyes showed the redness of her distress but she kept her lip tucked into her mouth to stop from shouting more, and to force herself to maintain some respect. If there was any to maintain anymore.

He cut through the bindings of her ankles and she tried to find her footing, but he cut through the ones around her wrist a fraction too soon and her knees buckled. With a tired groan she collapsed but was caught. And looking up, she could of sworn the sun made him look like some sort of angel. But she nodded, and took a deep breath and slowly forced herself to strengthen up.

"Let her choose her weapon, I'll be ready. Do I fight naked?"

Thinking ahead, she tried hard to ignore how her back ached and stung anywhere that the wind blew past it, or something brushed against it, or even where a muscle moved underneath it. Now was not the time to go weak in the knees, and she demanded that her legs give her power. Her wrists had welts around them from the rope, as did her ankles from where she had thrashed against the lash. And after about five or ten seconds of taking his strength to rest, she pushed away from him and stood up proudly. Her chest heaving as she did so, the muscles all over her body shuddering as she prepared herself with a few stretches.

 

[DeeperWater]

Skylark held her, until she was sure of her feet and then let go. "Nay we'll get you some clothing."

"No! I will not wait for my revenge!" Rowena yanked at the ties on her bodice and dumped in on the deck. The rest of her clothing followed so quickly that it was evideent that she was skilled at disrobing. Her body was curvy and ripe, almost moving into plump, but her shoulders where heavy with muscle and her thighs looked powerful. She whipped the helment off of her head last. Her hair fell out in a long tight braid, which had been coiled on top of her head.

"I am going to slit your fucking throat and piss down your neck!" Her medium accent had grown more harsh and took on a tone that sounded like Manhattan Island in New York. She stalked over to a couple of sailors and just about tore the cutlaces from their waists. They were short, nasty looking cleavers which had a subtle curve and a wide blade.

She tossed one across the deck, causing it to clatter until it came to rest a few feet from her opponent. She put her forked fingers to her lips and then made an obscene gesture. Skylark knew that she was trying to goad her opponent. That was her M.O. when it came to duals.

Skylark bent and picked the blade up for Chyrl. As he handed it to her he whispered, she's left handed, but she'll test you right handed and then switch to throw you.

 

[DormantEvil]

Watching the gesture, it helped alleviate some of the pain in her back. It was actually entertaining to see a grown woman act so brash and grotesque. She wondered what her crew thought, seeing her naked and ready to duel. The howls seemed to approve. "If only there was mud..." she murmured, accepting the cutlass from the Captain. And then she moved away from everyone. Over to a space big enough to move around in.

So, she's a left hander who will try with her right. Interesting.

Holding the cutlass in her right hand, Cynthia stood in a rather defensive position, taking a backseat for the first attack. However, if he was correct and the First Mate attacked with her right hand as well, then she planned on blocking it strongly and giving the woman a blood nose to even out the nickel taste. It was only far really. If she faked it, then Cynthia would move out of the blade and use the outer knuckle guard of her cutlass to do the exact same.

She really wanted to break this womans nose. Firstly to disorientate, and to blur her vision. But mainly just because Cynthia wanted her angry. "Better get started, I'm sure your partners bodies are almost too cold for your victory shag. I'm sure the rigor will be pleasurable for you at least."

Cutting the blade through the air twice, she got the feeling for its weight and balance. But it was also to get the First Mate to attack, and she smiled slyly at the other woman. "Unless you need a rest." People always told Cynthia she was a smart ass with a big mouth, but her reply was that she had a fine ass, and knew what a big mouth was useful for.

 

[DeeperWater]

The taunts drew some catcalls and laughs from the crew, even the female members few though they were. Still, they started chanting 'Ball Buster' over and over, to cheer Rowena on. Money was changing hands and some arguements broke out over this, around the edges of the deck.

Rowena looked furious. Her cheeks were puffy and red and her large chest was heaving like a pull. Still, she tried to circle her opponent and draw her out. A few times it looked like she might rush in, but she didn't. When she made her was toward a large coil of rope, she suddenly grabbed a wooden bucket from the deck and flung it at Cynthia. The bucket was full of hot soapy water and was well aimed, but the bigger problem was the large corn fed bitch behind it, who ran forward and jumped in the air, pulling her sword back to her right hand side, and then swung out in a two handed chop at Cynthia's chest. Spit was flying from her mouth and her eye's were red.

Skylark watched the fight with great interest. The capture woman was cagey and knew to try to anger her opponent. He also admitted it was nice to see two nubile young women fighting in the nude, though the blood flowing down the back of one did nothing to excite him.

Rowena had been his first mate for three years now and did a good job. She had signed on as a gunner, but quickly climber the ranks. The previous first mate had not done well defending him in their duel, but then Rowena was talented, though selfish. He had had intercourse with her a few times, when they were sailing long enough for him to feel desperate for release, but she was rough in her sex, to the point where she often damaged her toys. Still, there were time when they were drunk and she was ready, when any port would do in a storm, but that wasn't common.

Ooc: internet back, but someone is using it

 

[DormantEvil]

The atmosphere was thick with tension, anger and the level of crew enjoyment ran high. Cynthia had thought she was doing a good job tracking the other womans fighting ability, but the courier always was one to not fight dirty. There were standards. Rules to follow. Apparently none of this airship's inhabitants agreed. And as the bucket was thrown towards her, she had to deflect it with a rushed backhanded swipe. Pain shot up her wrist momentarily, but it was perhaps on the same level as punching a full grown man in the jaw. Instead it clattered onto the deck, sending streams of soapy water everywhere. Much of the foam happened to splash up on both of the naked women. At this time Cynthia couldn't care less, as her left forearm dully ached a bit from bruising it. The blade of Rowena was cutting through the air quickly, and impulsively Cynthia deflected that as she stepped back quickly. The tip of the blade barely missing her own neck as she pushed it away and to the side, using the other womans momentum.

Her hand quickly shot down to grab the womans left wrist, and dragged her in nice and close so they were standing chest to chest. Breasts pressing up against each other as both women breathed heavily. She dug thumb into the pressure point with savage brutality. The nerve pinching under the skin, the bone stressing. Cynthia stopped her from bringing that arm forward after she finished the follow through from her slice. And without hesitation, Cynthia brought her head forward with alarming speed and head-butted the women, right between the eyes, aiming for the bridge of her nose, roughly. Since sporting didn't seem in their nature, she was letting herself join in on the ruthless barbarity.

Shoving the woman away and releasing her wrist at the same time, Cynthia backed off again, making space between them rather quickly. This woman still had enough fight in her to cause problems if Cynthia rushed her death move. Breathing in and out, she wiped blood from her split lip away and wondered if the warmth dripping down her back and across her ass cheeks was worsening by her movements. Either way, until her body was cold or weak from blood loss, it was repairable.

Standing out of reach, at least until the woman charged again, Cynthia glanced at the back of her arm. A large brown bruise had already developed. Perhaps she should end this fight quickly, and postpone entertaining the crew. Although, from the looks on the men and women's faces, they enjoyed the show a lot. The foam on her legs was starting to pop and disperse, making the smooth pale skin shine with moist appearance. A glance at the Captain caught him mid gaze at her body, and turning back to the fight she took the chance to attack.

Whether Rowena had recovered from the headbutt or not, Cynthia's sword danced in the air momentarily. And moving in, her front foot did all her moving, like a fencing pose as she cut the air. The only move meant to get close to hitting her was the one that went past the First Mates left ear. To cut the long braided pony tail from her head as it swished around with her moving. She wanted this woman to know how accurate she could be, to get her back for the accuracy of the bucket thrown earlier.