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| Blunder the Lucky #01001 | |
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| Topic Started: 08 Jul 2014, 23:06 (1838 Views) | |
| theringhero | 08 Jul 2014, 23:06 Post #1 |
All that is gold does not glitter.
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Blunder the Lucky stared deep into the thick white fog that surrounded his ship. The salty seawater lapped at the barnacle-encrusted hull as the steel-spiked prow cut through like butter. Nearly everything and everyone was still, excluding the ominously-shifting rigging. The crew was listless. Dunce was at the helm piloting the vessel and Puck attempted to navigate with a map and compass. Blunder became the first man to break the deathly silence for over an hour. “Brace yourselves!” A large rock emerged from the veil and violently struck the wooden ship, scraping the steel shields and snapping the long spears mounted along the port and starboard. The hull crumpled like paper and broke with a mighty crack; water rushed inside without pause. The crew shouted and fell to their knees and rolled across the deck. They were crushed by barrels and stabbed by weapons and tossed overboard. Blunder himself grasped the monstrous nightmare figurehead and held on as it angled up and smashed itself to pieces. “I said brace, fools!” The mast snapped asunder and plummeted backward. Dunce and Puck were nearly crushed underneath the debris as they scrambled toward the prow. The ship swayed and tilted to up and to the port-side as it split in two and opened a gaping, shrieking maw directly in the center. Blunder roared and, throwing a sturdy rope around the figurehead, rappelled down the sloping deck and grabbed Dunce by the arm. Puck pushed himself forward and snatched the line. The ship trembled and, in a horrifying instant, capsized away from the rock. All three men were cast into the raging foam. “Dive! Dive!” Blunder pushed Dunce under the frothing water and thrust himself into the icy deeps. Puck, an able swimmer, followed as the husk of the ship collapsed all around them. Shafts of wood pierced the waves and pointed all around like the quills of a deadly nadder. A knotted mass of ropes enveloped and entangled Blunder as Dunce and Puck rose to the surface through the split betwixt the two pieces of the ship. He was trapped no matter how many times he kicked his feet in anger. Growling, he drew his sword and, grabbing a fistful of cords to keep them steady, began to cut through the relentless monster. The bodies and blood of drowning Vikings infested the swirling water. The aft of the ship descended and crashed into the seafloor only twenty or thirty feet below. Dust erupted upward and destroyed any chance of visibility. Everything was a blur. Everything was nothing. With one final, blind stroke, Blunder shredded the final knot gripping his ankle. The blade accidentally sheared through the shoulder of a living man and spewed a creeping cloud of blood. Blunder could see what looked like a scream, but it was hard to tell. All he could make out was a twitching hand gripping a spastic arm. It didn't matter; Blunder strove for the surface. He kicked off of the Viking he had prematurely sentenced to death and rocketed upward through the field of wreckage. He burst from under a large wave and was carried directly into the rock, bashing his arm. Blunder grunted and clambered to safety. “Blunder!” Puck shouted, “You’re alive! What happened to you down there? Dunce and I thought that you were lost.” “Oh, did you now?” Blunder asked. He refrained from touching his wound. There would be no show of weakness in this time of crisis. Even the dimmest of Vikings feels the occasional pang of treachery and opportunity. “What happened?” Dunce asked. “Are you hurt?” “The only thing that hurts me is your incompetence!” Blunder yelled. He struck Dunce across the face, and he fell like a dragon incapacitated by a bola. “And you!” he said, turning to Puck. “Maps and charts and compasses! Humph! Learn to use your head for more than just reading words and bashing skulls!! You two idiots are lucky I’m letting you live, and twice as lucky that I’m letting you live and I saved your worthless hides.” “Of course, Blunder,” Puck said, “We’re sorry, Blunder. It won’t happen again, Blunder.” “You’re right it won’t, because we don’t have a damn ship to even wreck anymore!” Blunder said. “Who else survived?” “I did, sir!” Dunce announced proudly. “Who else useful to me survived?” “Well,” Puck said, “you know, funny thing is…” “’Funny thing, eh? You better hope I laugh.” “Vikings aren’t usually the best swimmers… or, well, swimmers at all, really,” Puck said, “Dunce and I can. You can. The others…” “Not so much,” Dunce finished. “Fine, it’s just us three!” Blunder exclaimed, “Allow me to lay down a few ground rules. Any food we find is mine. Any shelter we find is mine. Any weapons we find are mine. Anything we find is mine. You get what I see fit. That is, if I see anything fit for you to get. In return, I don’t murder you in your sleep. Do we have an accord?” Dunce and Puck glanced at one another uneasily. “Do I sense… a problem?” “No, no, sir!” Dunce said, shaking his head vigorously. “There’s no problem!” “No problem at all, Blunder,” Puck added. “I mean, except for the fact that we’re stranded on a lonely rock in the middle of the great wide ocean with nowhere else to go. But other than that, no problems!” “Good,” Blunder said, “It relieves me to know that you’re at least smart enough to value your lives. Now, did either of you rescue anything from the ship?” “Nothing but my axe and the clothes on my back,” Puck said. He held up the axe as if to prove it. “My compass and a rusty mace,” Dunce said happily. Blunder sighed. As for himself, he, too, was rather ill-equipped. He was dressed in thick- if sopping wet- furs and armed with a sword and several knives. The majority of his weapons had sunk to the bottom. Blunder had no food, but he had some good leather to chew on when he grew hungry. It was more than Dunce and Puck had to chew on, at least, unless they had no qualms with chewing their own fingers when the fingernails were all but chipped away. Of course, the most important item he had saved from the wreck was his brain. The mind was the most important weapon of all. Once you allow the enemy into your head you have already lost the fight, and nature was no different. Blunder didn't allow anything to get inside of his. “So what do we do?” Dunce asked, “We’re doomed! We’re absolutely, positively doomed-!” “Shut up, you idiot!” Blunder said. “I’m going to dive back in and salvage some food and weapons. They’ll be salty, but salt tastes good. And salted wounds go without saying, am I right?” He chuckled. “You two rig some driftwood together. We’ll row ourselves off this forsaken rock and find a bigger rock. Understood?” “Aye, aye, sir,” Dunce said. He gave a small salute. “It will be done,” Puck agreed, “but there’s no harm in resting, if only for a little while. There’s no need to jump right back in-“ “It had better be done. And waiting is for the weak.” Blunder unclasped his belt and stripped away his overcoat, and without a second thought, dove headfirst under the waves once more. He clawed his way down the face of the rock and strove against the battering waters. Below was the fate of the ship, and it was in ruins. A corpse hand brushed against Blunder’s leg. When he glanced at it, he realized in morbid fascination that it was a hand with no body. The poor man had been crushed and torn apart against the rocks. He wasn’t strong enough to survive and the sea had punished him. The sea was impartial to every man. It chose no favorites. A wave was a wave and a rock was a rock. Swinging his great arms, Blunder swam downward and into the remains of his ship. He was careful to avoid any loose ropes or chains or splintered wood. Lying in the mud was Blunder’s stockpile of weapons. It was bundled in a burlap sack and was, unfortunately, pinned to the ground by the mast. Blunder planted himself into the viscous seafloor and pushed against the wooden behemoth. His arms and legs bulged, and his back arched, and he nearly let loose a gasp of air, but to no avail. The mast was solid as stone. Only a dragon could have moved it. What impeccable timing it was that a great shadow loomed overhead and the water suddenly transformed into a tumultuous current. Blunder steadied himself with his hands. Drawn by the unmistakably delightful scent of Viking blood, a mighty scauldron stamped its great foreleg down upon the mast and broke it into a million shards. Blunder, with little air remaining in his lungs, stared the beast down. It’s cold, pale eyes returned the favor. The monster’s wings stretched out like a pair of ancient sails. They blotted out the sunlight and transformed the seafloor into a land of twilight. The scauldron’s tail slithered out of Blunder’s view and snatched him by the torso. It attempted to squeeze the life out of him. Blotches of red and yellow and blue and green, all the colors of the rainbow, all the colors in world both known and unknown, they all crossed Blunder’s gaze as the last bits of air left him and the water excitedly rushed in. The relentlessly constructing tail unexpectedly released its supernaturally tight grip and flung Blunder upward, toward the sun. He flew past the dreadful wings and tasted the light, relished its glow. He emerged beside a large chunk of driftwood and disgorged himself of the seawater. He coughed and spat and coughed and spat until he could no longer cough and no longer had spit. A wall of water overwhelmed him and dragged him back underneath. Furious, Blunder refused to back under. He grasped the driftwood and dragged himself on top of it. “Blunder! Sir! Grab on!” Blunder snarled and looked over his shoulder, only to be immediately jabbed in the face by some kind of wooden shaft; he recoiled and swatted the strange object aside. “Sorry!” Dunce apologized. Turning back around, Blunder found Puck and Dunce had lashed together a crude raft, just as he had commanded. Dunce was offering him an oar. Blunder swatted it aside a second time and leaped to the raft just as a tail whipped out from below and destroyed the piece of driftwood he was just lying on. The splinters sailed away and clattered on the rocks. “What was that!?” Dunce exclaimed. “Scauldrons!” Blunder shouted, seizing the oar and paddling like a madman. “Two of them! They’re fighting over the dead! Paddle! Now!” A geyser of boiling water gushed through the waves and into the air. It rained down on the three Vikings and burned their skin. Dunce and Puck screamed, but Blunder remained focused. The tip of wing emerged up ahead and disappeared just as swiftly. Distant rumbles carried through the fog as the dragons clashed. One stroke after another, Blunder drew the raft away from the submarine brawl. Dunce and Puck used whatever boards or planks they could get their hands on. Before long, the wreck of Blunder’s ship and the two belligerent scauldrons were behind them. Blunder threw the oar down on the raft and took long, deep breaths. He was physically exhausted. Every muscle of his ached and his lungs heaved, but it felt like they couldn’t heave swiftly enough to meet his body’s demands. Sweat poured from him and mingled with the sea. Dunce and Puck were equally spent. As for the fog, it was still just as prevalent as before. “Brill… brilliant rowing, Blunder,” Puck said. “You’re my hero, sir!” Dunce agreed. “I’m no hero,” Blunder snapped, “and you’ll do well never to call me that again.” “Yes, sir! Of course, sir! Never again, sir!” “So,” Puck said, “what comes next?” Blunder looked at his surroundings. There was nothing to be seen but the white sky and the blue water. Everything was whispering to him to give up, to submit, to cower and suffer. But Blunder the Lucky was Blunder the Lucky for a reason, and it wasn’t because he found gold at the end of a rainbow and shook the leprechaun silly until he got three wishes. That’s what the Irishmen to the west were for. “We go that way. Now keep paddling.” |
| draconicwyvern | 09 Jul 2014, 06:53 Post #2 |
kyt, 18, she/her.
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Great use of descriptive words, and the detail put in is well-thought. |
     
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