Writing Group: Come Sail Away « Tale Foundry
Writing Group: Come Sail Away
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Writing Group: Rise from the Ashes (PRIVATE) →
Likks hated humans. “Stupid towering giraffe-like beasts. Smooth skin, not even any scales.” he snickered. But the Ronnu was going to fix everything. The three-foot-tall red-scaled kobold grabbed the bottom of the ladder. He tested the ropes. Likks still wasn’t sure the balloon and the boat hanging beneath it would stay in the air. After all, you can’t trust wizards. Most of them just don’t understand the universal nature of property. As in what is yours is, in reality, mine. Likks had to teach the mage who made the Ronnu’s balloon with the appropriate application of a knife blade to his sternum.
The summer sky was dark but clear. All you could see was a few blinking stars. “The humans will never see us coming in the dark. Stupid, scaleless bean poles,” he announced to the crew as they scrambled about the deck. Even humans wouldn’t be tall enough to reach the Ronnu floating over their village. He could hardly wait.
The boat barely moved as Likks climbed. Which the kobold took as a good sign. They needed enough ballast to keep the ship low, to avoid freezing at altitude. He reached the deck of the Ronnu and had the crew pull up the ladder. It was a nice-looking boat, sturdy, and well-made. The air up here smelled fresh. Likks didn’t know what to do about the smell. Kobolds tended to prefer damp, moldy air. It was comforting. Likks found this fresh air smell disturbing. He walked to the rail and looked down. He had to fight to keep from vomiting. This whole plan would work out much better if he wasn’t afraid of heights. At least they weren’t too high up. Kobold’s freeze in the cold. This is why you don’t see any kobold mountain climbers.
Likks strode over to a massive pile of rocks in the center of the deck. “Now remember,” Likks explained, when we get to the village of the lousy tall humans, everybody grab as many rocks as you can and throw them over the side.”
You step out of the door, young, full of vigor. The alley is thin. Dew streams down the walls. You can’t see outside the small backstreet. You walk forward, out into the damp cobblestone streets. A shroud of fog leaves only silhouettes. You keep moving.
Buildings, signs, strangers, and friends pop in and out of view. You hear the lapping of the bay. Down on the wharf, there are rows and rows of ships. Each one looks identical in the heavy fog, a colorless silhouette. You ask the harbormaster which you should board. He tells you, that’s for you to decide, that you should follow your gut.
You walk up a gangplank. You don’t know what the destination is. You don’t know if this is the right ship. Will there be a storm. Will the supplies last. Sailors shout in the distance, and you watch the other ships leave one by one. A shipmate walks you through your duties. You unfurl the sails. Hitch and unhitch ropes. Over and over again, you carry out these tasks, and you grow tired. Your hands are bloody and split from blisters. The drone of the sea grows.
You no longer know how long you’ve been at sea. The grey fog still clings to the ship, obscuring any sign of the sun or stars. You feel lost. The salt has wrinkled your skin and moldy rations make you weak. There is no sign of land. No sign of a destination. The crash of the waves on the bow is the only indication that the ship is still moving. You carry out your duties.
You’re weary. Your hands are calloused and numb. They shake vigorously and you know not why. The fog blows away. A storm calls massive swells. You brace your withered body against a rope and hold tight. The ship is battered by the sea. A wave crashes over the deck. Your hands falter.
You sink beneath the waves. The sound of the storm is deafened. The sun breaks through the clouds. Golden light shines from above the water.
You sink deeper.
The sun had just come up over the horizon when we noticed that some of the population had vanished. We were not aware of what had happened other than a weird shaking overnight. There were no screams of distress, no cries for help, no nothing just the shaking.
Those of us that were left became afraid of what had happened. We feared that the shaking and vanishing will happen again. We were like newborn babies, trying to understand the world around us not knowing that this place was only a small part of it.
Those that had vanished didn’t have time to tell us who they were, what their dreams were, or why they were even here. Those that vanished were only here long enough for us to know that they existed, then they didn’t. Will that happen to me?
The place moved again. We were awake this time when it happened. The place shook like a wave on the water. Back and forth the place swung, then suddenly the place stopped. More of us vanished, but this time rumor had it that they floated off like angels being called to other tasks. One of us supposedly said that it was beautiful in its own right.
I didn’t buy it. How can vanishing from existence be a thing of beauty? How can a disappearance of anyone that comes from the place shaking be anything but terrifying? I don’t believe that anything good will come from this vanishing, nor do I believe that this shaking can go on before all is lost.
The sun begun to slowing drift off to sleep behind the other horizon. My being filled with terror, every gram of me inflamed by fear that the shaking will begin again. What if I vanish this time when the shaking starts, then what?
The shaking has started again. I feel strange. I can’t yell for help, I can’t cry out in fear. I’m no longer rooted, I have sailed aloft. This horrid wind has blown me from my dandelion.
Last edited 8 days ago by Michael Case
Ah, darn… I mostly write pirate related fanfiction so I don’t think I’d qualify for this one… but it’ll still be interesting to hear what people write!
Sail Away To Peace
I have met the one you call death, but I know her as Liimore which translates to death in the ancient tongue of my ancestors. She first appeared to me in a dream. She asked “Would you like to come with me to The White Shores and sail away to peace?” I told her “I can’t. I don’t know why, I just know I have work to do.” Liimore put a hand on my head and said “such wisdom for one so small.”
Over my many adventures Liimore appeared to me multiple times. She even saved my skin once or twice. Each time I saw her, she asked me the same question “Would you like to come with me to The White Shores and sail away to peace?” and each time I told her “I can’t yet. I still have work to do.”
Now as I lay bloody and broken on the cold ground. My brother cradling my head in his lap and my sister in bond held my hand tightly in hers, Liimore appeared for the last time.
“Your work is finished Dale. Would you like to come with me to The White Shores and sail away to peace?” She asked sweetly.
I looked up to meet my brother’s gaze. Eyes speak more truth than words ever could and in that moment Lockie’s eyes told me it was time to go.
Then I looked to Leona who’s lilac eyes were filled with tears. “I don’t want you to leave.” she sobbed “but I want you to have peace….and this is the way.” she took a breath then said with a smile. “You can go.”
After we said our last goodbyes Liimore asked “Are you ready Dale?” I looked down and said “I don’t think peace suits me.” Leona and Lockie both grinned. “But I’m ready for this journey to end and a new one to begin.” I brought my eyes up to meet Liimore. “I’m ready to go to The White Shores and sail away to peace.” Liimore smiled and said “such wisdom for one so small.”
Am, a Ship’s Tale by Charles Funk
I know not how i came to be. Only that i did.
My birth was welcomed by revelling crowds as I emerged a handsome frigate with sky piercing masts and fluttering sails that swelled large with pride as did I. But not as large as the beauty that was the sea before me. I floated on her with awe. Never have I felt so small.
Britain was my mother. Bristol Shipyards was my womb. Rene Duguay-Trouin, a French Coursier, was my father who christened me “Le Concord”.
“Sail with me, mon amie.” He said to me. “Like days of old. I am the gallant knight. You, my valiant steed who will brave us to the unknown. Together.”
My sails swelled large as we made for the horizon where adventures lie.
The seas were fickle creatures yet Rene knew her dance. From furious storms to perilous battles, the captain and I prevailed. Never did my sails falter under his gentle hand.
Not until Rio-de-Janero.
In a war that I don’t know. Against fellow ships bearing other colors. I fought for Rene till deck became red. My wounds gave him victory but he gave me away because of it.
The following masters were uncaring but less cruel than he. Those years were paved in tears. Something I shared with my passengers crowding my hull to the brim in chains and blood. My sails barely tose in those sorrowful years as every trip and batch became more depressing than the last.
The winds changed with my fate skulled sails appeared one day. Inept as a captain as he was a swimmer, my master was usurbed by a demon bearing a great black beard. One that even I could fear.
There I expected the epilogue of my story. A lonely cold grave.
Instead I received a new master and a new name.
“Ye be mine now,” he said proudly. “My ‘Queen Anne’s Revenge’. What adventures we’ll have ourselves.”
I swelled once more and the seas parted as I paved through it with bellowing wrath. Eager for my new beginning. Eager to what awaited beyond
Written by Cody (aka ProfBelgian)
“Captain! Land!” The Barrelman shouted from his lookout.
A few members of the crew looked up, a spark of hope in their eyes, but when the Captain spoke it quickly faded.
“Sail away. The enemy will have trapped the docks.” The Captain had been getting more and more paranoid recently, ever since they had discovered the chest of gold in an underwater cave.
“But, Captain. We need to restock on food and water. Rations are thin, and if we stay out much longer-” The Quartermaster began, but the Captain cut him off.
“Are you trying to talk back to me? I gave an order! Unless you plan a mutiny?” The Captain drew his cutlass and pointed it at the Quartermaster.
“No, Captain, but we can’t go on like this! We’ll starve, if thirst doesn’t get us first!” The Quartermaster drew a breath to continue, but instead of words blood came from his mouth.
The Captain had cut his throat, with a look of disdain on his face.
“I should’ve known I couldn’t trust him. He was acting shifty all along. Were any of you,” He turned to the crew, “Plotting against me with him?” He spoke calmly, but his voice was strained and eyes were bloodshot. He was barely holding it together.
The crew were quick to deny this. If they banded together they would’ve been able to stop the Captain, but they didn’t know who they could trust, who would side with the Captain, or anything.
“Good. Helmsman, turn us away. I’ll not let them get my treasure anytime soon.”
One by one, the crew fell from hunger, thirst, or Captain’s cutlass. The Chef had thrown himself off the ship mere days after the Quartermaster’s death, and the remaining few considered doing it themselves.
The Captain took the wheel after throwing the Helmsman’s corpse off the ship, and, not realizing he was now alone, said into the wind, “He was only holding us back! Onward, my crew, to riches and glory!”
Last edited 10 days ago by Alexander
Honor-bound (Public Group Repost)
“Sail to a safe place”[Aleph null science fiction, public group coppy]
Pleading Ignorant.
Declan reclined and extended a hand for a beverage.
“Giz a glass of something cold and hard.”
“Declan. Declan, you’re going to die out here, you know that right? This is you being stoic and going down with the ship right? And I mean ‘going down with the ship’ in a strictly metaphorical sense since, y’know. You don’t even had a real boat to expire in.”
Declan opened his eyes and surveyed his vessel. He’d lucked out really, there weren’t many cardboard boxes big enough for him to almost fully stretch out in, and the sides had bent and creased so they curved around him as he leant back, sagging to create a comfortable throne.
“How is this thing even staying together?”
The brightly coloured bird that perched on the side of his craft sighed.
“I don’t understand why you’re stressing out…. Maurice? Is your name Maurice?”
“It is if you think it is. Regardless, you need to get a hold of yourself. You don’t even have any water.”
Declan squinted disbelievingly at Maurice and gestured all around him to the endless expanse of blue.
“That’s saltwater Declan.” Declan didn’t react, apparently unmoved by this statement. “Have you been drinking saltwater!? Okay, this explains a lot.”
“Hang on.” Declan held up a hand to call a time out. “How do you not know what I’ve been drinking? When could I possibly have snuck a quick sip of brine without you seeing?”
“That’s what you have a problem with?” The bird replied through gritted teeth. Yuck. Bird teeth. “Tell me Declan, what even am I?”
“Why what Maurice?”
“Why am I a parrot?”
“Cuz, y’know. The ocean. Pirates and all.”
“Are you planning on trying to attack a passing ship!? Why am I here?”
“It’s just the aesthetic man. Get over yourself.”
“Tell that to yourself! Ask yourself these questions! Why the hell do I have to be the only part of your brain with enough sense to hate you right now?!”
Declan shrugged. “So, no cocktail then?” Maurice swore and disappeared.
Do you remember the Zeppelin? (From the Private group)
“The Golden Smoking Pipe”
From birth I’d been given a family heirloom of sorts, it was a golden smoking pipe. I never went anywhere without it, even as a ninety-six year old woman I rarely had it out of my mouth. Often I would sit by the window smoking from it and gazing out at the front drive. One day, while staring out the window, a letter came.
“Eleanor, the President requests you come to Washington to immigrate with him to the island of New America.” said the letter.
“Can I open you now?” I asked the letter, who had spoken the message so eloquently.
“Go to hell.” replied the letter, it seemed offended.
After telling my husband about the President summoning me, he immediately arranged my transport. He asked me to pack, so I grabbed my belongings and went to the drive to await my transport.
I stepped outside and found a horse. ‘How very old fashioned’ I thought to myself. I jumped on the horses’ back and got ready to ride the horse to Washington.
“What are you doing!?” exclaimed the horse.
“Riding you to Washington.”
“I’m your bloody chauffeur!”
On the drive to Washington I talked to the horse. His name was Brandon Sugar and he was very nice for a horse. He wasn’t great at driving, all horses are a bit dodgy. On the way I saw a yellow cat holding hands with a sky blue dog. Back in my day cats and dogs were sworn enemies, so it was an uneasy sight for me to witness.
When I met the President we had tea together, and then he led me to his ship.
We were walking up the gangplank when the President turned to me and said: “Chuck that Golden Smoking Pipe overboard, New America has no use for such a thing.”
“I will not!” I fiercely replied.
The President smiled, it was a warm smile yet full of remorse. He boarded the ship without me and sailed off into the sunset.
When the sun disappeared under the Earth, I was plunged into darkness.
Suddenly, the atmosphere was shattered by the shrill scream of Leah in the kitchen. Astrid jumps out of her chair and races to her calls..
“Oh my god. Are you ok?” she asks as the kitchen comes into view. In the corner, Leah was scrunched up, pointing at the food she was making.
Astrid grabbed a piece of paper and politely encouraged the little guy to get onboard. Together, they began their journey into the woods outside. She walked for a moment, before deciding she had gone far enough and carefully setting the small creature onto the forest floor.
By IsaDragon337
Talin blinked. “Come again?”
“Come aboard the Sierra when we leave.” Tack’kal wiggled a feeler-arm at the sterilized greenery. “You are clearly miserable here.”
Tack’kal tinted purple in frustration. “We have been ‘pen-pals’ for many months. Many of your letters describe dissatisfaction with your life. And you smell miserable.”
Tack’kal glared with all 15 of his eyes. “To use a human term: Bee-ess”
“I’m not!” He heaved a sigh at the blue-tinted radiation dome. “It’s just… after the destruction of Earth, everybody’s walking on glass around me!” He slammed his hand on the synthetic grass of the ‘recreation park’. “I never even visited! All my relatives moved off The Dustball decades ago! There was nothing there for me!”
“Come with me, when I go.”
Talin buried his head in his knees. “The captain will hate me.”
“Alexi will like you.”
“Ship probably vents oxygen.”
“I breathe oxygen. And there is a Veershara on board, you can get plenty of UV.”
“Did you already think this through?”
“Yes. You are not happy here. I want you to be happy. You are my friend.”
“Using my own language against me. Jerk.” He was smiling.
Tack’kal turned an eye-searing chartreuse in smug joy. The human handbook had said that insults in a ‘playful tone’ were indicators of strong friendship.
“What would I even do on a ship like that?”
“Extra beings are always needed for cargo.”
“She’s a cargo freighter? What’s she hauling?”
“Vanity items.”
“Earth ‘mint’ and Chauleain ‘chabbage’ are two popular imports for many planets.”
“Nice to know that something not poisonous made it off planet.”
“We could see Kal’ash’katan.”
“The jungle planet?”
“My species’ homeworld.”
Talin’s head poked out of his knees. “What. No, wait. How do you know the ship is sailing there?”
“Captain Alexi insisted. She needed someone who knew plants, and the great libraries are there.”
“How do you know the crew won’t treat me like a time bomb?”
Tack’kal smirked. “The captain’s human too.”
Whipple crawled out of the hammock and found a whole bunch of humans surrounding him.
“I’m not in the mood for more worship,” he said and stumbled a few steps before emptying his stomach onto the white sand. “Lovely punch yesterday, but I have to move along. Put up a few more statues until next time. Toodeloo!”
The crowd made way while Whipple shielded his eyes from the sun, his head felt like a minor deity could emerge from it at any moment. He stumbled towards Jerakeen, his giant turtle who bore his small bungalow upon her back. The local humans kept their distance to the turtle, out of fear or respect Whipple didn’t know, nor did he care.
“Missed me much?” he said with a smile as he stroked Jerakeen’s emerald shell. When the turtle had taken him out onto open sea he leaned back on her shell and sighed with relief. “Free offerings whenever we pass by, ain’t that nice Jerakeen?”
The sound of a sneeze emanated from the small bungalow. A tiny squeaking sneeze. Nevertheless, it caught Whipple off guard. “Who’s there? Show yourself or face divine wrath!”
A tiny human emerged from the bungalow. “Mighty Whipple! I’m here to offer you my service.”
“What the? I have no need for a domestic human. Off you go.”
“I know many secrets of humankind that could aid one such as you. Look at this,” it showed him a browning banana it had brought.
“You do realize I created bananas, right?”
“But I can change it. I can make it into banana wine.”
“I can make food, drink, and all kinds of stuff! All I want is to see the world. Take me with you and you will never be wanting human creations.”
“That doesn’t sound half bad. Just promise to be quiet unless spoken to. I have quite a horrible headache”
Whipple patted the human on its head. “Jerakeen set course for anywhere except whence we just came. It’s time to see some world!”
Last edited 11 days ago by Calliope Rannis
Lofty Waters
By: Nenthusiast
“Weigh Anchor!” shouted the quartermaster.
“Aye!” answered a chorus of men.
The morning sun was about to rise, when the crew of the “Chasing Misery” got a look on their next target. The ship sealed its presence, waiting in a cloud, so that just the lookout went above the never-ending sea of clouds. As the engines started, the soaring anchor was quickly lifted and the Misery started to rise. As they ascended, a few spotlights shined bright upon them.
“Raise the red flag! Ready the cannons. Let’s give them a warm welcome, boys!” The captains command went through a system of pipes. “This is our last chance to secure gas and food. Be quick about it.” She went to a different pipe. “Gunners on position?”.
A metallic “Aye” shouted back.
“Status report?” she asked the sailing master.
“Contact in about two minutes. We will have the opportunity to fire into their starboard bow.” He confidently reported back.
For the next minute you could only hear the sound of running engines, rotating propeller and the steps on board of the crew. The Misery slowly gained momentum to put itself with their Port in front of the approaching ship.
“Fire in the hole!”. The first few cannonballs flew across the sky, piercing thru the walls of the ship. Smoke where soon spotted and the ship began to sank down.
“We must have hit the engines!” informed the lookout the captain.
“Ready to enter! You have less time than expected!” said the captain into the pipes.
“No one who falls, ever comes back the same”. The crew repeated the last sentence.
Twenty men, wearing a long rope, a big basket on their back and armed to the teeth, were standing on a catwalk beneath the Misery’s vessel.
On command they fell down into the lofty heights, landing upon their target. Gunshots. Screams. For the next few minutes. 17 men came back, the other ropes were cut. With there baskets filled with loot.
“Good job boys. They went straight to Davy Jones’ Locker. May we hope, no one who falls, ever comes back.”
(Also posted in Private)
John and Paul made their way through the market, the same routine as the day before, and all days before that. They had little to sell, but it was a living. One had to make a living. They wandered the coast line, passing many canopied stalls and shouting vendors, when John caught sight of a poster, brown and worn in the salty breeze. Calling Paul over to read it, the two shared a glorious grin before suddenly dashing away from the market, their small basket of wares left behind. The poster had read:
Last edited 11 days ago by MysteryElement
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jamila pulled at her sleeves as she walked with Amir on the yacht. “There’s a reason Professor Penn told us to avoid mermaids in our first year.”
“He said nothing about bribing them to keep everyone safe,” Amir pointed out. “Besides, he told us to stay away from vampires, and we know how Jason found out about magic.”
Jamila was stuck on what Amir opened with, “I’m sorry, you bribed the mermaids?”
“I’m not the only one who likes salmon.”
They eventually made it to the main deck where Balthazar, Oboto, Avi, and Jason were playing cards.
Amir smiled as he walked ahead and exclaimed, “Mermaids! The only creatures that have a chance against my beauty!”
“Cut the drama,” Jamila interrupted as she walked in front of him and picked up Amir’s speech. “I want to remind everyone that normal boat safety applies even with subdued mermaids.”
They nodded and went back to their game. With that settled, Amir draped himself over the side while grinning at Jamila, clearly trying to get on her nerves.
About five minutes passed before Jamila looked over and saw several shapes approaching the boat. “It’s time.”
Jason walked over to the side and looked out just as the mermaids breached the water like dolphins.
“What are the odds?” Oboto grinned as she walked over and rested her elbows on the edge. “I didn’t see that until my third year.”
“Guess that’s a good sign for my hormone treatment, then,” Jason said with a small laugh.
The others looked at him in shock. Amir gave more of a reaction, almost slipping on the deck from mere shock alone. “You’re starting?!”
Jason stopped laughing. “I forgot to tell you guys, didn’t I?”
“I think we would have remembered if you told us,” Avi pointed out.
Amir took out his phone and scrolled through it. “I can make this work.”
“Make what work?” Balthazar asked.
“A party for our self-made man, obviously!”
Jason laughed once more as everyone started celebrating the news.
Song Heals All Wounds
The crowd looked like an ocean as I mounted the rickety stage. I felt every painful squeal of the planks underneath my weight groan up through my bones. Surely everyone in the bar heard them, and I felt a few dozen eyes on the back of my head, and a single pair boring into the front.
“The hell are you doing here?” My brother asked, a mix of confusion and a raising defense to his tone, ready to parry anything I was going to reply.
I didn’t oblige his defense, and simply shrugged, unhooking the second of the four microphones off of the stand atop the tiny TV screen. I’d have to break through that armor of his, and I think I knew exactly how.
“Could you play Styx?”
My sibling’s eyes remained locked on me, and I felt them burning a hole in the side of my skull as I turned to the DJ. He got a playful look to his face, as he knew who I was. Whole town knew who I was, and he didn’t need to ask which song to play. Away he went on his search. I turned to face the piercing gaze of my brother, but rather than be met with a hard, pointed spear, he looked more like a pool noodle. His face reddened, and sheen glossed his eyes.
“That’s it then, huh? Just gonna play mom’s song, and that’s gonna make me forget everything?”
The piano notes began, and I smiled. I felt the itch of tears crawling their way up my eyelids. “You stepping off the stage, or are we doing this?” I finally retorted. His guard was down, and it struck him dead in the heart. All I got was a nod, but his feet didn’t move. He turned to look at the blank screen, lyrics ready to start. We looked back to each other several times. We sang our lungs out for each other, for the bar, and for our broken up family; was this hope for us? Was a corny karaoke night the key? Turns out it was.
Last edited 12 days ago by Frei
Jonas was running through the forest, tears in his eyes. Branches snapped at his face, as he held his bruised arm. He could hear the jeering and laughter from behind him.
“Come out, little fish! Come out!”
The cackling intensified. Jonas tried to ignore them, but their words stung deep into his soul.
“I just want to leave”, he whispered, between sobs: “I just want to get away.”
“Hey”, a soft voice said: “Are they being mean to you?”
“Who?” Jonas whirled around.
“Over here”, the voice said: “Follow my voice and we can walk away together. Or sail. Do you like sailing?”
Every fiber in Jonas’ body told him not to. His mind told him not to. But there was an urge in his mind. A desire to be free; to finally be free from bullying and cat-calling and being beaten up every day. A desire that was stoked, grown into a festering plant, with its roots deep in his brain. Every mental defense he had left broke down. Every rational thought was replaced, by a feeling of pure want. He wanted to walk away, sail away. And he wanted to reach that voice to do it.
And so, like a fly attracted to scent, he followed the voice.
Some small part of his mind resisted the tug; resisted the burning urge, which had taken hold of his body.
“My name is Cynthia”, she said: “Cynthia Bennett.”
The scent drew the fly closer, forcing it to inch into reach.
He rounded a tree and came face to face with a young girl, not much older than he was. She was in bad shape. She was sitting against a tree, her skin grey and leathery. It looked tattered, like an old suit. Compassion suddenly overcame Jonas. He couldn’t leave her here, no matter who she was. He whirled around, as the jeering grew closer, his eyes off Cynthia.
The Bodythief grinned, as it began to peel itself out of long-dead Cynthia’s skin. Its new host was here. And it had even brought food.
They would fly no flag, sail for no country or kingdom, they will sail for the thrill of the open sea. Their vessel has no name, but a name isn’t as important as the freedom the ship brings, the freedom of a pirate. They lowered the ship and set sail with the wind.
The Captain smiled, “With a strong wind we sail free.”
Writing Group: Come Sail Away « Tale Foundry
Writing Group: Come Sail Away
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Likks hated humans. “Stupid towering giraffe-like beasts. Smooth skin, not even any scales.” he snickered. But the Ronnu was going to fix everything. The three-foot-tall red-scaled kobold grabbed the bottom of the ladder. He tested the ropes. Likks still wasn’t sure the balloon and the boat hanging beneath it would stay in the air. After all, you can’t trust wizards. Most of them just don’t understand the universal nature of property. As in what is yours is, in reality, mine. Likks had to teach the mage who made the Ronnu’s balloon with the appropriate application of a knife blade to his sternum.
The summer sky was dark but clear. All you could see was a few blinking stars. “The humans will never see us coming in the dark. Stupid, scaleless bean poles,” he announced to the crew as they scrambled about the deck. Even humans wouldn’t be tall enough to reach the Ronnu floating over their village. He could hardly wait.
The boat barely moved as Likks climbed. Which the kobold took as a good sign. They needed enough ballast to keep the ship low, to avoid freezing at altitude. He reached the deck of the Ronnu and had the crew pull up the ladder. It was a nice-looking boat, sturdy, and well-made. The air up here smelled fresh. Likks didn’t know what to do about the smell. Kobolds tended to prefer damp, moldy air. It was comforting. Likks found this fresh air smell disturbing. He walked to the rail and looked down. He had to fight to keep from vomiting. This whole plan would work out much better if he wasn’t afraid of heights. At least they weren’t too high up. Kobold’s freeze in the cold. This is why you don’t see any kobold mountain climbers.
Likks strode over to a massive pile of rocks in the center of the deck. “Now remember,” Likks explained, when we get to the village of the lousy tall humans, everybody grab as many rocks as you can and throw them over the side.”
You step out of the door, young, full of vigor. The alley is thin. Dew streams down the walls. You can’t see outside the small backstreet. You walk forward, out into the damp cobblestone streets. A shroud of fog leaves only silhouettes. You keep moving.
Buildings, signs, strangers, and friends pop in and out of view. You hear the lapping of the bay. Down on the wharf, there are rows and rows of ships. Each one looks identical in the heavy fog, a colorless silhouette. You ask the harbormaster which you should board. He tells you, that’s for you to decide, that you should follow your gut.
You walk up a gangplank. You don’t know what the destination is. You don’t know if this is the right ship. Will there be a storm. Will the supplies last. Sailors shout in the distance, and you watch the other ships leave one by one. A shipmate walks you through your duties. You unfurl the sails. Hitch and unhitch ropes. Over and over again, you carry out these tasks, and you grow tired. Your hands are bloody and split from blisters. The drone of the sea grows.
You no longer know how long you’ve been at sea. The grey fog still clings to the ship, obscuring any sign of the sun or stars. You feel lost. The salt has wrinkled your skin and moldy rations make you weak. There is no sign of land. No sign of a destination. The crash of the waves on the bow is the only indication that the ship is still moving. You carry out your duties.
You’re weary. Your hands are calloused and numb. They shake vigorously and you know not why. The fog blows away. A storm calls massive swells. You brace your withered body against a rope and hold tight. The ship is battered by the sea. A wave crashes over the deck. Your hands falter.
You sink beneath the waves. The sound of the storm is deafened. The sun breaks through the clouds. Golden light shines from above the water.
You sink deeper.
The sun had just come up over the horizon when we noticed that some of the population had vanished. We were not aware of what had happened other than a weird shaking overnight. There were no screams of distress, no cries for help, no nothing just the shaking.
Those of us that were left became afraid of what had happened. We feared that the shaking and vanishing will happen again. We were like newborn babies, trying to understand the world around us not knowing that this place was only a small part of it.
Those that had vanished didn’t have time to tell us who they were, what their dreams were, or why they were even here. Those that vanished were only here long enough for us to know that they existed, then they didn’t. Will that happen to me?
The place moved again. We were awake this time when it happened. The place shook like a wave on the water. Back and forth the place swung, then suddenly the place stopped. More of us vanished, but this time rumor had it that they floated off like angels being called to other tasks. One of us supposedly said that it was beautiful in its own right.
I didn’t buy it. How can vanishing from existence be a thing of beauty? How can a disappearance of anyone that comes from the place shaking be anything but terrifying? I don’t believe that anything good will come from this vanishing, nor do I believe that this shaking can go on before all is lost.
The sun begun to slowing drift off to sleep behind the other horizon. My being filled with terror, every gram of me inflamed by fear that the shaking will begin again. What if I vanish this time when the shaking starts, then what?
The shaking has started again. I feel strange. I can’t yell for help, I can’t cry out in fear. I’m no longer rooted, I have sailed aloft. This horrid wind has blown me from my dandelion.
Last edited 8 days ago by Michael Case
Ah, darn… I mostly write pirate related fanfiction so I don’t think I’d qualify for this one… but it’ll still be interesting to hear what people write!
Sail Away To Peace
I have met the one you call death, but I know her as Liimore which translates to death in the ancient tongue of my ancestors. She first appeared to me in a dream. She asked “Would you like to come with me to The White Shores and sail away to peace?” I told her “I can’t. I don’t know why, I just know I have work to do.” Liimore put a hand on my head and said “such wisdom for one so small.”
Over my many adventures Liimore appeared to me multiple times. She even saved my skin once or twice. Each time I saw her, she asked me the same question “Would you like to come with me to The White Shores and sail away to peace?” and each time I told her “I can’t yet. I still have work to do.”
Now as I lay bloody and broken on the cold ground. My brother cradling my head in his lap and my sister in bond held my hand tightly in hers, Liimore appeared for the last time.
“Your work is finished Dale. Would you like to come with me to The White Shores and sail away to peace?” She asked sweetly.
I looked up to meet my brother’s gaze. Eyes speak more truth than words ever could and in that moment Lockie’s eyes told me it was time to go.
Then I looked to Leona who’s lilac eyes were filled with tears. “I don’t want you to leave.” she sobbed “but I want you to have peace….and this is the way.” she took a breath then said with a smile. “You can go.”
After we said our last goodbyes Liimore asked “Are you ready Dale?” I looked down and said “I don’t think peace suits me.” Leona and Lockie both grinned. “But I’m ready for this journey to end and a new one to begin.” I brought my eyes up to meet Liimore. “I’m ready to go to The White Shores and sail away to peace.” Liimore smiled and said “such wisdom for one so small.”
Am, a Ship’s Tale by Charles Funk
I know not how i came to be. Only that i did.
My birth was welcomed by revelling crowds as I emerged a handsome frigate with sky piercing masts and fluttering sails that swelled large with pride as did I. But not as large as the beauty that was the sea before me. I floated on her with awe. Never have I felt so small.
Britain was my mother. Bristol Shipyards was my womb. Rene Duguay-Trouin, a French Coursier, was my father who christened me “Le Concord”.
“Sail with me, mon amie.” He said to me. “Like days of old. I am the gallant knight. You, my valiant steed who will brave us to the unknown. Together.”
My sails swelled large as we made for the horizon where adventures lie.
The seas were fickle creatures yet Rene knew her dance. From furious storms to perilous battles, the captain and I prevailed. Never did my sails falter under his gentle hand.
Not until Rio-de-Janero.
In a war that I don’t know. Against fellow ships bearing other colors. I fought for Rene till deck became red. My wounds gave him victory but he gave me away because of it.
The following masters were uncaring but less cruel than he. Those years were paved in tears. Something I shared with my passengers crowding my hull to the brim in chains and blood. My sails barely tose in those sorrowful years as every trip and batch became more depressing than the last.
The winds changed with my fate skulled sails appeared one day. Inept as a captain as he was a swimmer, my master was usurbed by a demon bearing a great black beard. One that even I could fear.
There I expected the epilogue of my story. A lonely cold grave.
Instead I received a new master and a new name.
“Ye be mine now,” he said proudly. “My ‘Queen Anne’s Revenge’. What adventures we’ll have ourselves.”
I swelled once more and the seas parted as I paved through it with bellowing wrath. Eager for my new beginning. Eager to what awaited beyond
Written by Cody (aka ProfBelgian)
“Captain! Land!” The Barrelman shouted from his lookout.
A few members of the crew looked up, a spark of hope in their eyes, but when the Captain spoke it quickly faded.
“Sail away. The enemy will have trapped the docks.” The Captain had been getting more and more paranoid recently, ever since they had discovered the chest of gold in an underwater cave.
“But, Captain. We need to restock on food and water. Rations are thin, and if we stay out much longer-” The Quartermaster began, but the Captain cut him off.
“Are you trying to talk back to me? I gave an order! Unless you plan a mutiny?” The Captain drew his cutlass and pointed it at the Quartermaster.
“No, Captain, but we can’t go on like this! We’ll starve, if thirst doesn’t get us first!” The Quartermaster drew a breath to continue, but instead of words blood came from his mouth.
The Captain had cut his throat, with a look of disdain on his face.
“I should’ve known I couldn’t trust him. He was acting shifty all along. Were any of you,” He turned to the crew, “Plotting against me with him?” He spoke calmly, but his voice was strained and eyes were bloodshot. He was barely holding it together.
The crew were quick to deny this. If they banded together they would’ve been able to stop the Captain, but they didn’t know who they could trust, who would side with the Captain, or anything.
“Good. Helmsman, turn us away. I’ll not let them get my treasure anytime soon.”
One by one, the crew fell from hunger, thirst, or Captain’s cutlass. The Chef had thrown himself off the ship mere days after the Quartermaster’s death, and the remaining few considered doing it themselves.
The Captain took the wheel after throwing the Helmsman’s corpse off the ship, and, not realizing he was now alone, said into the wind, “He was only holding us back! Onward, my crew, to riches and glory!”
Last edited 10 days ago by Alexander
Honor-bound (Public Group Repost)
“Sail to a safe place”[Aleph null science fiction, public group coppy]
Pleading Ignorant.
Declan reclined and extended a hand for a beverage.
“Giz a glass of something cold and hard.”
“Declan. Declan, you’re going to die out here, you know that right? This is you being stoic and going down with the ship right? And I mean ‘going down with the ship’ in a strictly metaphorical sense since, y’know. You don’t even had a real boat to expire in.”
Declan opened his eyes and surveyed his vessel. He’d lucked out really, there weren’t many cardboard boxes big enough for him to almost fully stretch out in, and the sides had bent and creased so they curved around him as he leant back, sagging to create a comfortable throne.
“How is this thing even staying together?”
The brightly coloured bird that perched on the side of his craft sighed.
“I don’t understand why you’re stressing out…. Maurice? Is your name Maurice?”
“It is if you think it is. Regardless, you need to get a hold of yourself. You don’t even have any water.”
Declan squinted disbelievingly at Maurice and gestured all around him to the endless expanse of blue.
“That’s saltwater Declan.” Declan didn’t react, apparently unmoved by this statement. “Have you been drinking saltwater!? Okay, this explains a lot.”
“Hang on.” Declan held up a hand to call a time out. “How do you not know what I’ve been drinking? When could I possibly have snuck a quick sip of brine without you seeing?”
“That’s what you have a problem with?” The bird replied through gritted teeth. Yuck. Bird teeth. “Tell me Declan, what even am I?”
“Why what Maurice?”
“Why am I a parrot?”
“Cuz, y’know. The ocean. Pirates and all.”
“Are you planning on trying to attack a passing ship!? Why am I here?”
“It’s just the aesthetic man. Get over yourself.”
“Tell that to yourself! Ask yourself these questions! Why the hell do I have to be the only part of your brain with enough sense to hate you right now?!”
Declan shrugged. “So, no cocktail then?” Maurice swore and disappeared.
Do you remember the Zeppelin? (From the Private group)
“The Golden Smoking Pipe”
From birth I’d been given a family heirloom of sorts, it was a golden smoking pipe. I never went anywhere without it, even as a ninety-six year old woman I rarely had it out of my mouth. Often I would sit by the window smoking from it and gazing out at the front drive. One day, while staring out the window, a letter came.
“Eleanor, the President requests you come to Washington to immigrate with him to the island of New America.” said the letter.
“Can I open you now?” I asked the letter, who had spoken the message so eloquently.
“Go to 
hell.” replied the letter, it seemed offended.
After telling my husband about the President summoning me, he immediately arranged my transport. He asked me to pack, so I grabbed my belongings and went to the drive to await my transport.
I stepped outside and found a horse. ‘How very old fashioned’ I thought to myself. I jumped on the horses’ back and got ready to ride the horse to Washington.
“What are you doing!?” exclaimed the horse.
“Riding you to Washington.”
“I’m your bloody chauffeur!”
On the drive to Washington I talked to the horse. His name was Brandon Sugar and he was very nice for a horse. He wasn’t great at driving, all horses are a bit dodgy. On the way I saw a yellow cat holding hands with a sky blue dog. Back in my day cats and dogs were sworn enemies, so it was an uneasy sight for me to witness.
When I met the President we had tea together, and then he led me to his ship.
We were walking up the gangplank when the President turned to me and said: “Chuck that Golden Smoking Pipe overboard, New America has no use for such a thing.”
“I will not!” I fiercely replied.
The President smiled, it was a warm smile yet full of remorse. He boarded the ship without me and sailed off into the sunset.
When the sun disappeared under the Earth, I was plunged into darkness.
Suddenly, the atmosphere was shattered by the shrill scream of Leah in the kitchen. Astrid jumps out of her chair and races to her calls..
“Oh my god. Are you ok?” she asks as the kitchen comes into view. In the corner, Leah was scrunched up, pointing at the food she was making.
Astrid grabbed a piece of paper and politely encouraged the little guy to get onboard. Together, they began their journey into the woods outside. She walked for a moment, before deciding she had gone far enough and carefully setting the small creature onto the forest floor.
By IsaDragon337
Talin blinked. “Come again?”
“Come aboard the Sierra when we leave.” Tack’kal wiggled a feeler-arm at the sterilized greenery. “You are clearly miserable here.”
Tack’kal tinted purple in frustration. “We have been ‘pen-pals’ for many months. Many of your letters describe dissatisfaction with your life. And you smell miserable.”
Tack’kal glared with all 15 of his eyes. “To use a human term: Bee-ess”
“I’m not!” He heaved a sigh at the blue-tinted radiation dome. “It’s just… after the destruction of Earth, everybody’s walking on glass around me!” He slammed his hand on the synthetic grass of the ‘recreation park’. “I never even visited! All my relatives moved off The Dustball decades ago! There was nothing there for me!”
“Come with me, when I go.”
Talin buried his head in his knees. “The captain will hate me.”
“Alexi will like you.”
“Ship probably vents oxygen.”
“I breathe oxygen. And there is a Veershara on board, you can get plenty of UV.”
“Did you already think this through?”
“Yes. You are not happy here. I want you to be happy. You are my friend.”
“Using my own language against me. Jerk.” He was smiling.
Tack’kal turned an eye-searing chartreuse in smug joy. The human handbook had said that insults in a ‘playful tone’ were indicators of strong friendship.
“What would I even do on a ship like that?”
“Extra beings are always needed for cargo.”
“She’s a cargo freighter? What’s she hauling?”
“Vanity items.”
“Earth ‘mint’ and Chauleain ‘chabbage’ are two popular imports for many planets.”
“Nice to know that something not poisonous made it off planet.”
“We could see Kal’ash’katan.”
“The jungle planet?”
“My species’ homeworld.”
Talin’s head poked out of his knees. “What. No, wait. How do you know the ship is sailing there?”
“Captain Alexi insisted. She needed someone who knew plants, and the great libraries are there.”
“How do you know the crew won’t treat me like a time bomb?”
Tack’kal smirked. “The captain’s human too.”
Whipple crawled out of the hammock and found a whole bunch of humans surrounding him.
“I’m not in the mood for more worship,” he said and stumbled a few steps before emptying his stomach onto the white sand. “Lovely punch yesterday, but I have to move along. Put up a few more statues until next time. Toodeloo!”
The crowd made way while Whipple shielded his eyes from the sun, his head felt like a minor deity could emerge from it at any moment. He stumbled towards Jerakeen, his giant turtle who bore his small bungalow upon her back. The local humans kept their distance to the turtle, out of fear or respect Whipple didn’t know, nor did he care.
“Missed me much?” he said with a smile as he stroked Jerakeen’s emerald shell. When the turtle had taken him out onto open sea he leaned back on her shell and sighed with relief. “Free offerings whenever we pass by, ain’t that nice Jerakeen?”
The sound of a sneeze emanated from the small bungalow. A tiny squeaking sneeze. Nevertheless, it caught Whipple off guard. “Who’s there? Show yourself or face divine wrath!”
A tiny human emerged from the bungalow. “Mighty Whipple! I’m here to offer you my service.”
“What the? I have no need for a domestic human. Off you go.”
“I know many secrets of humankind that could aid one such as you. Look at this,” it showed him a browning banana it had brought.
“You do realize I created bananas, right?”
“But I can change it. I can make it into banana wine.”
“I can make food, drink, and all kinds of stuff! All I want is to see the world. Take me with you and you will never be wanting human creations.”
“That doesn’t sound half bad. Just promise to be quiet unless spoken to. I have quite a horrible headache”
Whipple patted the human on its head. “Jerakeen set course for anywhere except whence we just came. It’s time to see some world!”
Last edited 11 days ago by Calliope Rannis
Lofty Waters
By: Nenthusiast
“Weigh Anchor!” shouted the quartermaster.
“Aye!” answered a chorus of men.
The morning sun was about to rise, when the crew of the “Chasing Misery” got a look on their next target. The ship sealed its presence, waiting in a cloud, so that just the lookout went above the never-ending sea of clouds. As the engines started, the soaring anchor was quickly lifted and the Misery started to rise. As they ascended, a few spotlights shined bright upon them.
“Raise the red flag! Ready the cannons. Let’s give them a warm welcome, boys!” The captains command went through a system of pipes. “This is our last chance to secure gas and food. Be quick about it.” She went to a different pipe. “Gunners on position?”.
A metallic “Aye” shouted back.
“Status report?” she asked the sailing master.
“Contact in about two minutes. We will have the opportunity to fire into their starboard bow.” He confidently reported back.
For the next minute you could only hear the sound of running engines, rotating propeller and the steps on board of the crew. The Misery slowly gained momentum to put itself with their Port in front of the approaching ship.
“Fire in the hole!”. The first few cannonballs flew across the sky, piercing thru the walls of the ship. Smoke where soon spotted and the ship began to sank down.
“We must have hit the engines!” informed the lookout the captain.
“Ready to enter! You have less time than expected!” said the captain into the pipes.
“No one who falls, ever comes back the same”. The crew repeated the last sentence.
Twenty men, wearing a long rope, a big basket on their back and armed to the teeth, were standing on a catwalk beneath the Misery’s vessel.
On command they fell down into the lofty heights, landing upon their target. Gunshots. Screams. For the next few minutes. 17 men came back, the other ropes were cut. With there baskets filled with loot.
“Good job boys. They went straight to Davy Jones’ Locker. May we hope, no one who falls, ever comes back.”
(Also posted in Private)
John and Paul made their way through the market, the same routine as the day before, and all days before that. They had little to sell, but it was a living. One had to make a living. They wandered the coast line, passing many canopied stalls and shouting vendors, when John caught sight of a poster, brown and worn in the salty breeze. Calling Paul over to read it, the two shared a glorious grin before suddenly dashing away from the market, their small basket of wares left behind. The poster had read:
Last edited 11 days ago by MysteryElement
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jamila pulled at her sleeves as she walked with Amir on the yacht. “There’s a reason Professor Penn told us to avoid mermaids in our first year.”
“He said nothing about bribing them to keep everyone safe,” Amir pointed out. “Besides, he told us to stay away from vampires, and we know how Jason found out about magic.”
Jamila was stuck on what Amir opened with, “I’m sorry, you bribed the mermaids?”
“I’m not the only one who likes salmon.”
They eventually made it to the main deck where Balthazar, Oboto, Avi, and Jason were playing cards.
Amir smiled as he walked ahead and exclaimed, “Mermaids! The only creatures that have a chance against my beauty!”
“Cut the drama,” Jamila interrupted as she walked in front of him and picked up Amir’s speech. “I want to remind everyone that normal boat safety applies even with subdued mermaids.”
They nodded and went back to their game. With that settled, Amir draped himself over the side while grinning at Jamila, clearly trying to get on her nerves.
About five minutes passed before Jamila looked over and saw several shapes approaching the boat. “It’s time.”
Jason walked over to the side and looked out just as the mermaids breached the water like dolphins.
“What are the odds?” Oboto grinned as she walked over and rested her elbows on the edge. “I didn’t see that until my third year.”
“Guess that’s a good sign for my hormone treatment, then,” Jason said with a small laugh.
The others looked at him in shock. Amir gave more of a reaction, almost slipping on the deck from mere shock alone. “You’re starting?!”
Jason stopped laughing. “I forgot to tell you guys, didn’t I?”
“I think we would have remembered if you told us,” Avi pointed out.
Amir took out his phone and scrolled through it. “I can make this work.”
“Make what work?” Balthazar asked.
“A party for our self-made man, obviously!”
Jason laughed once more as everyone started celebrating the news.
Song Heals All Wounds
The crowd looked like an ocean as I mounted the rickety stage. I felt every painful squeal of the planks underneath my weight groan up through my bones. Surely everyone in the bar heard them, and I felt a few dozen eyes on the back of my head, and a single pair boring into the front.
“The hell are you doing here?” My brother asked, a mix of confusion and a raising defense to his tone, ready to parry anything I was going to reply.
I didn’t oblige his defense, and simply shrugged, unhooking the second of the four microphones off of the stand atop the tiny TV screen. I’d have to break through that armor of his, and I think I knew exactly how.
“Could you play Styx?”
My sibling’s eyes remained locked on me, and I felt them burning a hole in the side of my skull as I turned to the DJ. He got a playful look to his face, as he knew who I was. Whole town knew who I was, and he didn’t need to ask which song to play. Away he went on his search. I turned to face the piercing gaze of my brother, but rather than be met with a hard, pointed spear, he looked more like a pool noodle. His face reddened, and sheen glossed his eyes.
“That’s it then, huh? Just gonna play mom’s song, and that’s gonna make me forget everything?”
The piano notes began, and I smiled. I felt the itch of tears crawling their way up my eyelids. “You stepping off the stage, or are we doing this?” I finally retorted. His guard was down, and it struck him dead in the heart. All I got was a nod, but his feet didn’t move. He turned to look at the blank screen, lyrics ready to start. We looked back to each other several times. We sang our lungs out for each other, for the bar, and for our broken up family; was this hope for us? Was a corny karaoke night the key? Turns out it was.
Last edited 12 days ago by Frei
Jonas was running through the forest, tears in his eyes. Branches snapped at his face, as he held his bruised arm. He could hear the jeering and laughter from behind him.
“Come out, little fish! Come out!”
The cackling intensified. Jonas tried to ignore them, but their words stung deep into his soul.
“I just want to leave”, he whispered, between sobs: “I just want to get away.”
“Hey”, a soft voice said: “Are they being mean to you?”
“Who?” Jonas whirled around.
“Over here”, the voice said: “Follow my voice and we can walk away together. Or sail. Do you like sailing?”
Every fiber in Jonas’ body told him not to. His mind told him not to. But there was an urge in his mind. A desire to be free; to finally be free from bullying and cat-calling and being beaten up every day. A desire that was stoked, grown into a festering plant, with its roots deep in his brain. Every mental defense he had left broke down. Every rational thought was replaced, by a feeling of pure want. He wanted to walk away, sail away. And he wanted to reach that voice to do it.
And so, like a fly attracted to scent, he followed the voice.
Some small part of his mind resisted the tug; resisted the burning urge, which had taken hold of his body.
“My name is Cynthia”, she said: “Cynthia Bennett.”
The scent drew the fly closer, forcing it to inch into reach.
He rounded a tree and came face to face with a young girl, not much older than he was. She was in bad shape. She was sitting against a tree, her skin grey and leathery. It looked tattered, like an old suit. Compassion suddenly overcame Jonas. He couldn’t leave her here, no matter who she was. He whirled around, as the jeering grew closer, his eyes off Cynthia.
The Bodythief grinned, as it began to peel itself out of long-dead Cynthia’s skin. Its new host was here. And it had even brought food.
They would fly no flag, sail for no country or kingdom, they will sail for the thrill of the open sea. Their vessel has no name, but a name isn’t as important as the freedom the ship brings, the freedom of a pirate. They lowered the ship and set sail with the wind.
The Captain smiled, “With a strong wind we sail free.”