Medieval & Fantasy Minecraft Roleplaying

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Cymic_

Better than sliced bread
Legend

(Warning: Adult themes included. Explicits, sex, and possible gore- Not in that order.)
-=-

Chapter 1
It was a night like any other night on the "Sea Serpent", the large warship seemed to be sailing the broad waters that encompassed the Northern Kingdoms without end. The moon was moody, the ship was swaying unsteadily, and cannonfire exploded from the deck below his quarters. The usual.

Gripping his ragged bed with all his might, he kept himself from slipping onto the deck with a sigh of momentarily relief, thinking to himself what the hell his father was after this time.

Although the bunkroom was empty, aside from the elf, it was apparent that everyone had migrated onto the upper decks by the sounds of the crew's collective voices. Orders being shouted, cursing and laughter, yelling in pain. He pushed himself out of bed and caught his shirt from the floor, pulling it over his young form and stepping over to look in the mirror. The "silver" elf was more of a golden, with blond, dirty hair that reached his shoulders. He looked his age, only a bit over fifteen summers. His nose was puffy and swolen, ".. Still broken.", He thought. His brown trousers and grey tunic that didn't even reach down the length of his lither torso, were worn to hell. He spit into his dirty hand and brushed his hair back with his palm. "Man, i look good.", He thought to himself oncemore in geniune admiration.

Cymic stepped barefoot out of the cabin and onto the deck of the ship, watching the men and women of their crew scramble about the ship, loading cannons, moving barrels, barking orders. He looked upwards to the captain's wheel where his father stood- A tall and ragged man wearing his tricorn and a large dark brown coat. Next to him stood a slender light grey moor, with long white hair that hung loosely down his back whom Cymic recognized as the quartermaster.

Just as he opened his mouth to yell up to him, a multitude of explosions sounded and a volley of cannonballs struck the starboard side of the ship, shaking the wooden deck under his feet. The crew of the ship fired at will, returning fire whenever they could get a cannon loaded, rather than all at the same time. The Moor nearly ran into Cymic as he began down the stairs at the same time Cymic rushed up the to where the captain were stood. He gripped the railing tightly, yelling so he could be heard through the hectic sounds of war.

"Soviel, wha' is it this time!", shouted Cymic.
"..Sorr'eh, did i wake ye'? It ain't me t'ss time, kid, it's th' law."
Cymic turned his head to regard the smaller yet well-equipped galleon that opposed them, staring. He didn't recognize the sails in full, but he knew enough that the ship must have belonged to one of the handful of formal navy's in the northern kingdoms.

"..Get th' hell below deck b'fore you lose yer ugl'eh fuckin' head.", his father continued in his brash tone. He had a way with words like none other.

Cymic leaned over the railing and shouted some explicits at the opposition- And heeded his father's words. He hurried back down the steps and ran into the cabin, searching frantically. He fell to the floor and stretched his arm under his bed, gripping and pulling out his rusty cutlass, strapping it to his hip. At this point all of the voices, all of the cannonfire, and the routine explosions of impact became muffled white noise.

He stumbled through the lower dimly lit decks, stepping down several flight of stairs before he reached the dark storage deck. He panted heavily and pulled himself onto a spruce crate filled with salt. He leaned back onto his arms, catching his breath. It was then that his heart jumped. A voice came from a sack of coconuts, or rather, atop them. Her black skin made it rather hard to spot at first, but once he did, she had already sprung up onto her toes.

"Seymour, is that you?

Cymic's nerves eased- And then grew as she drew closer. Her lavender eyes and grey hair were the most of what he could see. He had seen her a few times around the ship. Ah, yes. That's right. She was one of father's whores, recently picked up from Grafjell. She must have been just a few summers under twenty.

"Y-Yeah, wha' th' hell do ye' want- Wha'. What?", his voice spiked. There weren't many women aboard the ship that weren't tough as a warship or burlier than the men.

"Seymour, I'm scared.. What's going on?"

"Jus'.. Two ships, goin' at eachoth'r. Nothin' new, our ship is built for war we'll be fine-"

"I'm scared, Seymour.", she interjected, disinterested with what Cymic had to say. She didn't look scared. Not genuinely. She brushed her grey hair from her chest and straightened her back. When Cymic didn't catch on, she reached down to take his hand and placed it on her chest, making him sit up.

"I said I'm scared. You're supposed to comfort me. Haven't you ever been with a girl?"

"... I'm not-.. But ..", Cymic's face flushed. She giggled, and shimmied her shoulders, pushing herself into him despite the sounds of war above them.



She sighed lightly and pushed herself off of his chest, rolling onto the deck next to him as she reclothed herself. "You look a lot like your dad, Cymic."

He was unsure why she said this, furrowing his brows gently, but wrapped his arm around her shoulder regardless. "You look so much like Soviel. ..Just, shorter. And more lithe." Her tone of voice seemed to imply her mind was elsewhere. He didn't quite know how to respond, replying with a change of subject. His heart still pounded. "I've never felt anythin' like tha'.."

"Never, huh. .. Does that make me-", her voice came to a silence and she looked up. Standing there was the slender Quartermaster, whose footsteps were shrouded by all the noise. He had a smugly proud look on his face, to have caught Cymic up to no good as per usual. "Seymour you littl' git, comin' onto yer fath'rs whore. Soviel ain't gonna like t'ss." He picked up a crate of black powder, dragging it off the ground with both arms and heading towards the staircase.

"No, wait-" She exclaimed, only to be hushed by the Quartermaster. "Shhh, shush. I saw what i did, not even a lie crafted by Visage himself could get ye' out of that." He disappeared up the staircase. The Moor woman turned to Cymic and didn't quite say anything, only standing. He could see the tears welling in her eyes. She looked at him for another moment, and then turned heading back to where the cabins were.
 
Last edited:

Cymic_

Better than sliced bread
Legend
[3/3]

Accepting criticism, I'm not really a writer but i wish to expand on Cymic's childhood a bit and I've got a story in mind.
 

Archbishop

Faith prevail
Retired Staff
Archbishop
Archbishop
I disapprove. There wasn't a 'Woah there Charles Dickons, I wasn't expecting a book' under the voting.
 

Squidziod

Kid Charlemagne
Mystic
Retired Owner
Squidziod
Squidziod
LegendMystic
Reading the title (especially at a glace) gives me violent flashbacks.
 
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