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Introducing Captain Towe, scourge of the many seas! An otter you ought not cross, lest you find yourself crossing blades with her! This story sets up a bit of world-building. The sequel will probably be very much adult.
This is my second submission to the Thursday Prompt writing group. This week's prompt: "Poet"
Check out the group's user page here: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/thursdayprompt/
And the other stories generated from this prompt here: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/23197395/
THURSDAY PROMPT STORY INDEX
Furs Of Fortune: The Penniless Poet
By: Dankedonuts
As the Sea Dragon settled into port, its captain emerged from her quarters. An otter of ruthless poise. Dressed in the eastern style, a combination of leather plate and embroidered silk. Immaculately clean, for the triumphant return to the island she had made her home. Just because one was a pirate, that didn’t mean one had to be uncivilized.
Eyes northward, she looked past the bay, and the scurrying lines of furs moving treasure off the ship or supplies aboard it. Above the canopy of nearby jungle trees, toward the pinnacle of this island sanctuary. Part temple, part monument, the edifice had been carved into the mountainside by unknown hands. Covered in the carved heads of figures from half-remembered myths. Humans. Those heads draped in coloring that belied their natural stony grey. Green blotches of moss, brown lines of vine, darker lines from fractures in the stone. The weight of centuries.
And more features as well, had been added by contemporary crafters since she’d discovered this uncharted sanctuary. Rope bridges. Battlements made from the wreckage of enemy vessels. Banners of all colors and shapes, the icons of allied pirate crews who could call Towe’s Island a safehaven. Not as open a port as Tortuga, heaven forbid. But her influence was growing almost as fast as her legend.
One day, Captain Towe would be King of all pirates.
But that was for later. She looked back down towards the pier. And the matter of the day. Young master Aaron Spratt. He was easy to spot, among the line of lad and lasses emptying her flagship of its riches. A shocking orange mane topping a coat of black and brown calico. The cat was wearing a loose blue shirt that had maintained some of its luster over weeks at sea. That one of her crew had somehow acquired such well-crafted togs was not by itself noteworthy, in a crew of rogues and conmen and thieves. No, he’d caught her attention when he first signed his name to her crew roster. Not his mark, his name. Literate seamen were in short supply, at least in such places as a pirate leader might be expected to find sailors willing to crew under her banner.
Oh, she’d scoop up disgraced naval officers when she could get them. But they never stayed long. Invariably, they’d buy a ship of their own with their take of the plunder. And sail off in pursuit of their own dreams of retiring in luxury to a private island. Or on an epic quest to clear their name and re-enter polite society. Either way, they all ended up in Towe’s debt, wherever their own travels took them. Many of their icons currently adorned the face of her mountain.
And what of this lad below? What secrets must a man of words be hiding? There were treasures beyond the likes of gold and jewel and land. And the bolt of silks Spratt was currently hauling -- awkwardly, as though he’d never held such a weight over such a (short) distance before -- towards the boardwalk. Treasures worth digging up, if only to plant them for later.
Since the day Spratt signed up, he’d rather failed to distinguish himself as a sailor. No surprise that it took a cat time to get his sea-legs. But they tended to excel at climbing masts and the like. This one was all thumbs, unless he was plucking his mandolin. Aye, as an entertainer he was worth keeping aboard just for his skills at keeping crew morale above the water.
She’d had him watched, of course. He’d neither shown any tells of being a spy, or of faking his naivete. Nothing but determination to win a space on her crew despite his apparent ineptitude. Rumors had reached her ears that he’d confided himself a poet to those in the lower decks that had charmed into his confidence. Not a ‘profession’ one saw outside the nobility or idle rich. Families that could afford to lose a son to flights of artistic fancy, while others took on the duties of running house.
She whispered her conclusion to herself. “A man like you is running from something. Or towards it. Time to learn which it is. You’ll not be leaving my island before I do.”
She took down the stairs to the main deck with a predator’s grace. Leaving the First Mate to oversee the cargo transfer, she continued on down the gangplank. Nodding to those who stood to attention as she did. Then along the pier’s salt-worn logs to the boardwalk’s distribution station. Where she intercepted her target.
“Mister Spratt,” she summoned. Cooly, but sternly. With no room for delay in an answer.
“Yes’m- [i]Captain[/i!]” The lad tripped so hard over his tongue in correcting himself that he almost dropped his load of silks.
She guided his eye with a finger toward the motley temple face. “Upon that cliff, do you spy a the banner you’ve been sailing under all these many weeks?” That of a blood-red eastern dragon snaking its body through a white skull on a field of black.
“Aye,” his answer.
“Do you spy the balcony window that banner is hung beneath?” The window having once belonged to the stern-end of a hated rival’s galleon. Now propped up near the top of Towe’s bastion to serve notice to those who might cross her.
“Aye,” again. Spratt’s eyes were shifting between happy surprise of attracting direct attention from his captain and terror of getting an answer wrong.
“That window belongs to my personal quarters.” The otter had left the loose diction of working-class folk behind long ago. “When the Bosun has cleared you of your duties here, find your way there. We’re going to see what kind of pirate we can make of you.”
“Aye. Aye! Thank you, Captain!” Knowing himself dismissed, the cat scuttled back up the gangplank to collect another load.
The island’s Mistress gave a stern look to the other crew lingering about, to silence any lurid thoughts they might be harboring, before walking away to see to more duties still. This wasn’t a love affair. She was going to find a real use for that cat, even if it had nothing to do with crewing a ship.
THURSDAY PROMPT STORY INDEX
This is my second submission to the Thursday Prompt writing group. This week's prompt: "Poet"
Check out the group's user page here: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/thursdayprompt/
And the other stories generated from this prompt here: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/23197395/
THURSDAY PROMPT STORY INDEX
Furs Of Fortune: The Penniless Poet
By: Dankedonuts
As the Sea Dragon settled into port, its captain emerged from her quarters. An otter of ruthless poise. Dressed in the eastern style, a combination of leather plate and embroidered silk. Immaculately clean, for the triumphant return to the island she had made her home. Just because one was a pirate, that didn’t mean one had to be uncivilized.
Eyes northward, she looked past the bay, and the scurrying lines of furs moving treasure off the ship or supplies aboard it. Above the canopy of nearby jungle trees, toward the pinnacle of this island sanctuary. Part temple, part monument, the edifice had been carved into the mountainside by unknown hands. Covered in the carved heads of figures from half-remembered myths. Humans. Those heads draped in coloring that belied their natural stony grey. Green blotches of moss, brown lines of vine, darker lines from fractures in the stone. The weight of centuries.
And more features as well, had been added by contemporary crafters since she’d discovered this uncharted sanctuary. Rope bridges. Battlements made from the wreckage of enemy vessels. Banners of all colors and shapes, the icons of allied pirate crews who could call Towe’s Island a safehaven. Not as open a port as Tortuga, heaven forbid. But her influence was growing almost as fast as her legend.
One day, Captain Towe would be King of all pirates.
But that was for later. She looked back down towards the pier. And the matter of the day. Young master Aaron Spratt. He was easy to spot, among the line of lad and lasses emptying her flagship of its riches. A shocking orange mane topping a coat of black and brown calico. The cat was wearing a loose blue shirt that had maintained some of its luster over weeks at sea. That one of her crew had somehow acquired such well-crafted togs was not by itself noteworthy, in a crew of rogues and conmen and thieves. No, he’d caught her attention when he first signed his name to her crew roster. Not his mark, his name. Literate seamen were in short supply, at least in such places as a pirate leader might be expected to find sailors willing to crew under her banner.
Oh, she’d scoop up disgraced naval officers when she could get them. But they never stayed long. Invariably, they’d buy a ship of their own with their take of the plunder. And sail off in pursuit of their own dreams of retiring in luxury to a private island. Or on an epic quest to clear their name and re-enter polite society. Either way, they all ended up in Towe’s debt, wherever their own travels took them. Many of their icons currently adorned the face of her mountain.
And what of this lad below? What secrets must a man of words be hiding? There were treasures beyond the likes of gold and jewel and land. And the bolt of silks Spratt was currently hauling -- awkwardly, as though he’d never held such a weight over such a (short) distance before -- towards the boardwalk. Treasures worth digging up, if only to plant them for later.
Since the day Spratt signed up, he’d rather failed to distinguish himself as a sailor. No surprise that it took a cat time to get his sea-legs. But they tended to excel at climbing masts and the like. This one was all thumbs, unless he was plucking his mandolin. Aye, as an entertainer he was worth keeping aboard just for his skills at keeping crew morale above the water.
She’d had him watched, of course. He’d neither shown any tells of being a spy, or of faking his naivete. Nothing but determination to win a space on her crew despite his apparent ineptitude. Rumors had reached her ears that he’d confided himself a poet to those in the lower decks that had charmed into his confidence. Not a ‘profession’ one saw outside the nobility or idle rich. Families that could afford to lose a son to flights of artistic fancy, while others took on the duties of running house.
She whispered her conclusion to herself. “A man like you is running from something. Or towards it. Time to learn which it is. You’ll not be leaving my island before I do.”
She took down the stairs to the main deck with a predator’s grace. Leaving the First Mate to oversee the cargo transfer, she continued on down the gangplank. Nodding to those who stood to attention as she did. Then along the pier’s salt-worn logs to the boardwalk’s distribution station. Where she intercepted her target.
“Mister Spratt,” she summoned. Cooly, but sternly. With no room for delay in an answer.
“Yes’m- [i]Captain[/i!]” The lad tripped so hard over his tongue in correcting himself that he almost dropped his load of silks.
She guided his eye with a finger toward the motley temple face. “Upon that cliff, do you spy a the banner you’ve been sailing under all these many weeks?” That of a blood-red eastern dragon snaking its body through a white skull on a field of black.
“Aye,” his answer.
“Do you spy the balcony window that banner is hung beneath?” The window having once belonged to the stern-end of a hated rival’s galleon. Now propped up near the top of Towe’s bastion to serve notice to those who might cross her.
“Aye,” again. Spratt’s eyes were shifting between happy surprise of attracting direct attention from his captain and terror of getting an answer wrong.
“That window belongs to my personal quarters.” The otter had left the loose diction of working-class folk behind long ago. “When the Bosun has cleared you of your duties here, find your way there. We’re going to see what kind of pirate we can make of you.”
“Aye. Aye! Thank you, Captain!” Knowing himself dismissed, the cat scuttled back up the gangplank to collect another load.
The island’s Mistress gave a stern look to the other crew lingering about, to silence any lurid thoughts they might be harboring, before walking away to see to more duties still. This wasn’t a love affair. She was going to find a real use for that cat, even if it had nothing to do with crewing a ship.
THURSDAY PROMPT STORY INDEX
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Otter
Size 118 x 120px
File Size 151.2 kB
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