Post by theredbaron on Nov 1, 2010 15:45:05 GMT -5
I’m no warrior. Not a common man drafted for the good fight, not a rich man, drafted on his family’s whim. Not a barbarian, told by his chief to rape and pillage, not a trained killer, told by the state to make the tax money they sunk into him proud. Not a daring spy, stealing secrets from impossibly well-guarded locales, not an assassin, stealing smug grins from the faces of the enemy’s sons.
I’m something different, and perhaps if you took the time to look beyond my value as a killing machine, you’d understand that.
Perhaps.
- Luis Martin, Imperial Chainsword Warrior
~*~
“Rise and shine, blighters!” cried an aeropedes from across the sleeping cabin. The man pulled the lever to steam horn by the door, and the deafening screech sounded off across the cabin. Liam shot up immediately, nearly tossing himself off his hammock. It wasn’t long before the whole deck was crowded with airmen, scurrying about to use what little time they had to get ready for the day’s work. By the time the bathrooms were open, three of the five minutes Liam had to get ready were used up. No time to change from what he already had on, so it looked like he’d have to wear the liquor-stained rags from yesterday. He smiled a little. Just what he wanted to put on anyways.
With hardly a minute left, he sprinted over onto the deck. The bright light of the sky nearly blinded him, after being so long in the dark, windowless sleeping cabin. All the airmen were lined up on the ship’s port side, waiting for the captain’s daily inspection. Liam took his usual spot next to Jack, and folded his hands behind his back.
“Nick of time doesn’t begin to describe, mate.” Jack whispered to Liam, without looking at him. Liam would have replied, but true to Jack’s words, The Captain burst out from his cabin door near the stern the moment Jack finished his sentence. He was dressed clad in his navy-colored overcoat, with the gold trim glimmering brightly in the morning light, and his collar was popped up over behind him. Combined with his bright, clean white undercoat, that barely fit over his massive chest, and his large, tri-pointed, the whole ensemble gave him a sort of highly unfitting regal appearance. As his huge black boots made their way down the aisle, Liam cringed with a mix of fear and anxiety.
Just behind him, on either of his sides, were his two children, his son, Ardan, and his daughter Geanmnai, or just Gyan for short. Liam remembered what he said about both of them on the first day of the trip.
“I couldn’t leave me children back in Lindub,” he said over a few drinks and a cigar in the mess hall, along with some of the crew, “Not a nanny in the area didn’t have their hands full with some whiny posh folk’s brats, so I had to drag them along for the ride. It’s just a trip over to Treabhair, then Anbar, so it might just take a fortnight, if we’re lucky.” Then he glared, though at no one specifically, with that bulging left eye of his, the one that popped out of his skull like miniature tumor. He leaned in to speak, and his voice suddenly became hushed, and menacing, as he drew out each word like the raspy old gravekeeper back home, “So listen close now. If I catch any of you talking to either of them, or even anywhere near ‘em, it’s a flogging, right on the keel. Do I make myself clear?” Everyone there nodded, “And you’re ‘gonna make sure all your little buddies know about this?” Another unanimous nod. Then the Captain leaned out again, smiled, clapped his hands together, rubbing them back and forth, and bellowed out in a much more cheerful voice, “Well then, if that’s settled, anybody know if there’s any more pie left in the store?”
Everyone gave a nervous laugh. It wouldn’t be the last time he changed the subject so suddenly, and it certainly wasn’t the first.
The Captain passed by each member of the crew, first the navigators, then the aeropedes, who had a different sort of formal, military greeting to captain, and lastly the airmen. He kept his large, bulging eye trained on each of the crew members, silently scrutinizing each of them with that menacing look on his face. One had to wonder if he was actually trying to inspect everyone, or if he just liked watching young lads and lasses wet themselves at his presence. While his boots thumped across the wooden deck, Liam took a little time to glance at the man’s children behind him, since this was the first time he’d seen either of them on the deck. They both looked about fourteen, same age as he was.
The boy hardly looked anything like his father. His complexion was clear, lightly tanned, and free from almost any blemish. He looked athletic, but not muscular, by any means. Or not as muscular compared to any of the brutes on the deck, anyways. His hair was well-kept, short, a very light shade of brown, and probably had a little gel added to it, since his hair seemed perfectly straight, while his bangs leaned off to his left side. He wore a pair of dark brown overalls, with the two dark leather straps covering over his white, long-sleeved, button-down shirt, with all but the top button carefully done up.
Liam turned over to the girl. She wore a long, poufy, pleated, white skirt, that came down to her knees, with small little black buckled shoes, and long white socks that reached up above her skirt. A loose bodice was tied around her tiny waist, putting the skirt, and her white, short-sleeved, creamy-white-buttoned blouse together. Her complexion was very pale, but like her brother, it was flawless. Her face was round-shaped, with little brown freckles dotting her mouth and round, rosy cheeks. She had a tiny little nose, bright, dark eyes, and pale pink lips. Her hair wasn’t as light as her brother’s, but it was brown too, and very curly.
Liam’s heart fluttered for a moment when she came close to him and his breathes became a little deeper. She looked over at him, noticing he was looking at her, and she gave him a big smile, revealing little dimples that stretched from the corners of her mouth, all the way up to her eyes, as if every part of her face were overjoyed to light up for a complete stranger. Liam flashed a quick smile, and chuckled a little.
“Mr. Collins!” The Captain bellowed in front of him. Everyone near him immediately shot to a greater attention than they had before, “Just what are you looking at?”
“Nothing, sir!” Liam replied back, frightened as ever. He readjusted his position again, and stood at attention. He was probably right, the man must have lived off fear.
“Good,” he said, grinning maniacally. He leaned in, stroking his scruffy, short, silver beard. He then removed his hat, revealing his silver buzzcut. The man carefully looked over Liam’s appearance, as if every torn patch in his clothing were a threat to the ship’s safety. Beads of sweat began forming above Liam’s brow, and quivered every time the man seemed to find something off about his patchwork uniform. The man’s face was more than intimidating enough, with scars, both fresh and old, lining every angle of his face, but that one scar across his sunken, right eye was more than he could bear. It was a deep red, like he’d gotten it recently or something. Whatever madman had the balls to scar that behemoth probably didn’t last long enough to see his handiwork. The only thing that alleviated his threatening appearance were the wrinkles that lined his cheeks, as a reminder that he was still just an old man, and he wasn’t getting any stronger. Even then, those same wrinkles only made him look like God’s wrath in human form when he squinted at you.
The Captain gave a great big sniff in front of Liam.
“Your clothes reek of liquor and tobacco.” He whispered, eyes squinting deep as ever at him.
Speak of the devil. Liam thought. He gulped, and replied clearly as he could.
“I- I had no time to change this morning, sir! T-T-These were from Sunday, when we were-”
“Cut the crap, Collins, I’ve seen you wearing those same rags for a week now! You think I wouldn’t notice?! You think after three reminders to keep your uniform fresh each day, I’d just ‘letcha off all nice ‘n easy?!”
“I’m sorry sir!” Liam blurted out in a panic.
“Sorry?! Sorry don’t begin to cut it! I’m running a respectable zeppelin here, not some cut-rate rig you rent off from the gypsies and pirates! Discipline is the rule, not the exception, on any ship I captain!”
“Please, sir, it won’t happen again!” Liam shouted once again. He dropped to his knees, Tears began forming in his eyes; he knew what was about to happen.
“That’s what you said the last three times!” he growled, his left eye bloodshot, and his face tomato-red, “Remove your shirt!”
Liam did his best to hold back the tears. One stupid little thing like this, how was that deserving of lashings? They were airmen, not military privates, or fashion designers! What did a uniform matter if the only one who cared was the captain? He had no choice though. He reluctantly took off his ragged shirt and marched on over to the keel.
“Jack!” The Captain bellowed, “Get me the cat-o-nine-tails!” The boy almost pissed himself laughing at the order, but saluted quickly, and rushed off to get the whip. Liam kneeled down by the thick keel post, with his hands up against it. Without the Captain asking, two men, giggling with delight, started tying Liam’s hands up to the post. It wasn’t long before Jack returned with the massive whip dragging across the deck behind him.
“I replaced some of the hooks with bir balls, Captain!” Jack said, gleefully. The Captain roared with laughter, and yanked the thing out of Jack’s hands, causing it to slice open the air with a powerful thwack.
Bir balls?! Jack thought. They were little iron balls, with hundreds of tiny micro-sharp spikes. They certainly didn’t mutilate you as much as a hook could, but they pierced deep, and the pain was beyond anything proper words could describe. Images of men Liam saw who suffered the bir balls flashed across his mind. Their backs were usually unrecognizable from bloody, uncooked mutton chops at the butcher’s, or a burnt, dismembered corpse at a soldier’s cremation. Water poured down Liam’s cheeks like a waterfall, sweat and tears mixing together into a salty stain on the wooden deck. His heavy breathing was choked, like his heart was on it’s way up his throat, and his whole face felt like it was being flushed with white hot magma.
“Spirits save me,” He muttered to himself.
“Alright then, lads and lassies, are you ready for a show!” cried The Captain. The crew cheered like they’d be holding it back this whole time. “Then let’s see what we can do to this fellow!” He then turned, and kneeled down to eye level with his children, “Ardan, take your sister back to the cabin. She don’t be needing to see this,” He said softly.
“Yes, father,” The boy said solemnly. Liam looked to see what was going on behind him, and saw Ardan put an arm over his sister, gesturing for her to come along with him. For a split second, the two looked at Liam, and he at them. With their low, teary eyes they expressed all of what words couldn’t.
The Captain turned back, and raised the whip high above his head.
“Get ready, Collins!” he boomed.
I’m something different, and perhaps if you took the time to look beyond my value as a killing machine, you’d understand that.
Perhaps.
- Luis Martin, Imperial Chainsword Warrior
~*~
“Rise and shine, blighters!” cried an aeropedes from across the sleeping cabin. The man pulled the lever to steam horn by the door, and the deafening screech sounded off across the cabin. Liam shot up immediately, nearly tossing himself off his hammock. It wasn’t long before the whole deck was crowded with airmen, scurrying about to use what little time they had to get ready for the day’s work. By the time the bathrooms were open, three of the five minutes Liam had to get ready were used up. No time to change from what he already had on, so it looked like he’d have to wear the liquor-stained rags from yesterday. He smiled a little. Just what he wanted to put on anyways.
With hardly a minute left, he sprinted over onto the deck. The bright light of the sky nearly blinded him, after being so long in the dark, windowless sleeping cabin. All the airmen were lined up on the ship’s port side, waiting for the captain’s daily inspection. Liam took his usual spot next to Jack, and folded his hands behind his back.
“Nick of time doesn’t begin to describe, mate.” Jack whispered to Liam, without looking at him. Liam would have replied, but true to Jack’s words, The Captain burst out from his cabin door near the stern the moment Jack finished his sentence. He was dressed clad in his navy-colored overcoat, with the gold trim glimmering brightly in the morning light, and his collar was popped up over behind him. Combined with his bright, clean white undercoat, that barely fit over his massive chest, and his large, tri-pointed, the whole ensemble gave him a sort of highly unfitting regal appearance. As his huge black boots made their way down the aisle, Liam cringed with a mix of fear and anxiety.
Just behind him, on either of his sides, were his two children, his son, Ardan, and his daughter Geanmnai, or just Gyan for short. Liam remembered what he said about both of them on the first day of the trip.
“I couldn’t leave me children back in Lindub,” he said over a few drinks and a cigar in the mess hall, along with some of the crew, “Not a nanny in the area didn’t have their hands full with some whiny posh folk’s brats, so I had to drag them along for the ride. It’s just a trip over to Treabhair, then Anbar, so it might just take a fortnight, if we’re lucky.” Then he glared, though at no one specifically, with that bulging left eye of his, the one that popped out of his skull like miniature tumor. He leaned in to speak, and his voice suddenly became hushed, and menacing, as he drew out each word like the raspy old gravekeeper back home, “So listen close now. If I catch any of you talking to either of them, or even anywhere near ‘em, it’s a flogging, right on the keel. Do I make myself clear?” Everyone there nodded, “And you’re ‘gonna make sure all your little buddies know about this?” Another unanimous nod. Then the Captain leaned out again, smiled, clapped his hands together, rubbing them back and forth, and bellowed out in a much more cheerful voice, “Well then, if that’s settled, anybody know if there’s any more pie left in the store?”
Everyone gave a nervous laugh. It wouldn’t be the last time he changed the subject so suddenly, and it certainly wasn’t the first.
The Captain passed by each member of the crew, first the navigators, then the aeropedes, who had a different sort of formal, military greeting to captain, and lastly the airmen. He kept his large, bulging eye trained on each of the crew members, silently scrutinizing each of them with that menacing look on his face. One had to wonder if he was actually trying to inspect everyone, or if he just liked watching young lads and lasses wet themselves at his presence. While his boots thumped across the wooden deck, Liam took a little time to glance at the man’s children behind him, since this was the first time he’d seen either of them on the deck. They both looked about fourteen, same age as he was.
The boy hardly looked anything like his father. His complexion was clear, lightly tanned, and free from almost any blemish. He looked athletic, but not muscular, by any means. Or not as muscular compared to any of the brutes on the deck, anyways. His hair was well-kept, short, a very light shade of brown, and probably had a little gel added to it, since his hair seemed perfectly straight, while his bangs leaned off to his left side. He wore a pair of dark brown overalls, with the two dark leather straps covering over his white, long-sleeved, button-down shirt, with all but the top button carefully done up.
Liam turned over to the girl. She wore a long, poufy, pleated, white skirt, that came down to her knees, with small little black buckled shoes, and long white socks that reached up above her skirt. A loose bodice was tied around her tiny waist, putting the skirt, and her white, short-sleeved, creamy-white-buttoned blouse together. Her complexion was very pale, but like her brother, it was flawless. Her face was round-shaped, with little brown freckles dotting her mouth and round, rosy cheeks. She had a tiny little nose, bright, dark eyes, and pale pink lips. Her hair wasn’t as light as her brother’s, but it was brown too, and very curly.
Liam’s heart fluttered for a moment when she came close to him and his breathes became a little deeper. She looked over at him, noticing he was looking at her, and she gave him a big smile, revealing little dimples that stretched from the corners of her mouth, all the way up to her eyes, as if every part of her face were overjoyed to light up for a complete stranger. Liam flashed a quick smile, and chuckled a little.
“Mr. Collins!” The Captain bellowed in front of him. Everyone near him immediately shot to a greater attention than they had before, “Just what are you looking at?”
“Nothing, sir!” Liam replied back, frightened as ever. He readjusted his position again, and stood at attention. He was probably right, the man must have lived off fear.
“Good,” he said, grinning maniacally. He leaned in, stroking his scruffy, short, silver beard. He then removed his hat, revealing his silver buzzcut. The man carefully looked over Liam’s appearance, as if every torn patch in his clothing were a threat to the ship’s safety. Beads of sweat began forming above Liam’s brow, and quivered every time the man seemed to find something off about his patchwork uniform. The man’s face was more than intimidating enough, with scars, both fresh and old, lining every angle of his face, but that one scar across his sunken, right eye was more than he could bear. It was a deep red, like he’d gotten it recently or something. Whatever madman had the balls to scar that behemoth probably didn’t last long enough to see his handiwork. The only thing that alleviated his threatening appearance were the wrinkles that lined his cheeks, as a reminder that he was still just an old man, and he wasn’t getting any stronger. Even then, those same wrinkles only made him look like God’s wrath in human form when he squinted at you.
The Captain gave a great big sniff in front of Liam.
“Your clothes reek of liquor and tobacco.” He whispered, eyes squinting deep as ever at him.
Speak of the devil. Liam thought. He gulped, and replied clearly as he could.
“I- I had no time to change this morning, sir! T-T-These were from Sunday, when we were-”
“Cut the crap, Collins, I’ve seen you wearing those same rags for a week now! You think I wouldn’t notice?! You think after three reminders to keep your uniform fresh each day, I’d just ‘letcha off all nice ‘n easy?!”
“I’m sorry sir!” Liam blurted out in a panic.
“Sorry?! Sorry don’t begin to cut it! I’m running a respectable zeppelin here, not some cut-rate rig you rent off from the gypsies and pirates! Discipline is the rule, not the exception, on any ship I captain!”
“Please, sir, it won’t happen again!” Liam shouted once again. He dropped to his knees, Tears began forming in his eyes; he knew what was about to happen.
“That’s what you said the last three times!” he growled, his left eye bloodshot, and his face tomato-red, “Remove your shirt!”
Liam did his best to hold back the tears. One stupid little thing like this, how was that deserving of lashings? They were airmen, not military privates, or fashion designers! What did a uniform matter if the only one who cared was the captain? He had no choice though. He reluctantly took off his ragged shirt and marched on over to the keel.
“Jack!” The Captain bellowed, “Get me the cat-o-nine-tails!” The boy almost pissed himself laughing at the order, but saluted quickly, and rushed off to get the whip. Liam kneeled down by the thick keel post, with his hands up against it. Without the Captain asking, two men, giggling with delight, started tying Liam’s hands up to the post. It wasn’t long before Jack returned with the massive whip dragging across the deck behind him.
“I replaced some of the hooks with bir balls, Captain!” Jack said, gleefully. The Captain roared with laughter, and yanked the thing out of Jack’s hands, causing it to slice open the air with a powerful thwack.
Bir balls?! Jack thought. They were little iron balls, with hundreds of tiny micro-sharp spikes. They certainly didn’t mutilate you as much as a hook could, but they pierced deep, and the pain was beyond anything proper words could describe. Images of men Liam saw who suffered the bir balls flashed across his mind. Their backs were usually unrecognizable from bloody, uncooked mutton chops at the butcher’s, or a burnt, dismembered corpse at a soldier’s cremation. Water poured down Liam’s cheeks like a waterfall, sweat and tears mixing together into a salty stain on the wooden deck. His heavy breathing was choked, like his heart was on it’s way up his throat, and his whole face felt like it was being flushed with white hot magma.
“Spirits save me,” He muttered to himself.
“Alright then, lads and lassies, are you ready for a show!” cried The Captain. The crew cheered like they’d be holding it back this whole time. “Then let’s see what we can do to this fellow!” He then turned, and kneeled down to eye level with his children, “Ardan, take your sister back to the cabin. She don’t be needing to see this,” He said softly.
“Yes, father,” The boy said solemnly. Liam looked to see what was going on behind him, and saw Ardan put an arm over his sister, gesturing for her to come along with him. For a split second, the two looked at Liam, and he at them. With their low, teary eyes they expressed all of what words couldn’t.
The Captain turned back, and raised the whip high above his head.
“Get ready, Collins!” he boomed.
