The Ocean's Inkwell

Throughout history, legends have always found a way to seep into the minds of ordinary men, no matter how outlandish the story may be. Tales of dragons and demons; stories of untold treasures and grandeur leading to fables of even greater fantasy. And yet, as quickly as they appear and as rapidly as they spread, they just as easily fade into what they are; legend. 

Some, if they are lucky, manage to stand the test of time and continue to befuddle the minds of mortals with their tales of betwixing logic and awe-inspiring heroes. Few, if any, have come to stand above the rest, always tempting foolish (or deranged) men with the pantheons hidden in their narrations. And then there are the tales that have faded into obscurity, those that are the tales of history itself. The stories of life and death; of triumph and defeat, and of what has occurred throughout the years of existence.

Today’s tale is just that; a story. So like all stories, let us start at where the best stories always do.

The beginning.

*

Delphi was not a place for those seeking grandiose manors, gargantuan stone towers or anything related to the kings and queens of neighboring islands. Nor was the port-town destitute and filled with muderers, thieves and those of less desirable repute. It was simply a quaint town by the sea, with buildings overlooking the citizens and offering welcoming glances with their robust form and cozy interiors. The taverns were far from few, small emporiums littered the streets and there was always a room to spare at one of the many inns within the town. 

It was nothing like Verona, where visiting dignitaries were welcome with open arms into the city’s garish flare, but it’s citizens wouldn’t wish for anything different. The men and women were welcoming in their own robust and coarse manner, the town fools were always causing an uproar (whether or not it was for the better or worst depended on what celebrity had come to port that day), and life was simply a haven on the sea.

BOOM!

But then again, what’s every town without its resident lunatic?

“Stop him!”

“Don’t let him get away!”

“MY CABBAGES!”

Skidding from an alleyway, covered in the dust and shrapnel from the latest cart he had decided to obliterate, the perpetrator came running full sprint, his face masked by a cloak of black fabric. People shrieked in horror and alarm as the soldiers of the local militia came pouring into the main streets in their blood-red coats, desperate to catch the criminal. After all, their jobs depended on it.

The shrouded criminal grew faster in his stride, shoving civilians to the streets, using every piece of the scenery to his advantage. Food carts collapsed, peasants flocked to scattered coins and citizens were shoved to the ground by the renegade in his mad dash from the law. Running up a few empty carts, the rogue bounded onto a sign post of a local pub before clutching to the gutter of the building in front of it.

“Men, open fire!” barked the leader of the forces pursuing the youth. 

Quickly pulling back the flintlocks on their weapons, the soldiers unloaded their lead rounds on their target. The bullets pounded holes in the shingled rooftop, one blasting a hole in the runaway’s cloak before he made it up the building. Scrambling to the center of the building, the racketeer looked back at his assailants to find a small squad breaking from the main group, already scaling a building just twenty feet behind. Not missing a step in his movements, the runaway dashed across the rooftop before bridging the gap between him and the next structure, rolling off it’s surface to buffer his landing.

Another shot was fired from a gunman in the streets, embedding itself in a shingle just behind his target and sending shrapnel into the air. The cloaked figure picked up his pace, taking note of the increased accuracy coming from his pursuer’s cronies. 

Seems that old big-britches boys had grown some muscle, and maybe a brain cell or two, thought the youth in his stride. But they still can’t catch the crook that has managed to evade them for the past three months. That’d be far too easy.

The captain of the squad, though wearing his attire with pride, shone a distractingly bright shade of red under his captain’s cap. He had been hand-picked by the king of the island himself to lead the most prestigious of his home’s militia, and this is the best his boys can do?!

“You boys had better catch that scoundrel” demanded the captain, his voice booming like the muskets in the streets. “Or I’ll make sure the next shift you’re all on is milk distribution!” the captain ordered with a swing of his arm.

The remaining men  feverishly nodded in response before sprinting off towards their roof-bound brothers while the captain surveyed the movements on the battle field. 100 feet down street, and gaining distance by the second, his target leapt from building to building, sending one of his troops plummeting into a manure cart after landing on a local fabrics emporium. The captain’s mind raced as the labyrinth of streets, alleyways and sewer systems flashed in his mind, vigilantly tracking his target while searching for a rendezvous point. Nearly losing his train of thought at the implosion of a rooftop 50 or so feet west, his mind veered into the edge of town, mistakingly turning a sharp left before rerouting itself. The soldier snickered with delight. Checkmate, he thought. So predictable was the Black Marauder of Delphi. His eyes wandered to the center of town, towards the tallest building within the area. No where to run this time, William.

With his goal in sight, the captain clad in red tightened his collard trench coat and charged back into the distraught alleyway behind him, shoving a peasant to the ground in haste.

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Leaping over the heads of a group of the few aristocrats inhabiting the outer-rim city, the still-sprinting rogue picked up his pace to stay out of reach of his pursuers, most of which had been winded or incapacitated by other means and had given up their chase. 

Turning his face back towards his current path, the rogue nearly fell to the streets before skidding to the edge of the building’s rooftop. Looking upward, he snickered under his cloak now that he had a place from which he could easily procure an escape route. The city’s warehouse; the tallest building within a three mile radius. At least, according to the youth’s measurements.

A challenge, though the youth. But nothing too wearisome.

Tightening his cloak, the youth leapt for the grey-stoned building, latching onto a brick window sill as he searched for another foothold to support himself.

“Stop right there!” commanded one of his pursuers. “Or we’ll shoot!”

Ignoring the threat, the figure continued to clamor up the structure, finding grooves in the masonry where his fingers could sink in.

Gritting his teeth in anxiety, the soldier’s weapon shot up into the air where it landed in the hands of its rifleman. Clicking the mechanism back, the soldier let his bullet fly as it impacted the building just inches from where the youth’s hand had been.

The cloaked figure’s grip went into shock, nearly dissipating and fading into gravity to let the man plummet to his most certain death. Dangling from the sill, arms and legs splayed and flailing, the youth’s free arm shot upwards, his fingers find a new loose brick in which to embed. Reaffirming his grasp, the youth continued to climb the building, growing ever-faster in his pace as the peak grew closer. 

With a final heave, the rogue vaulted himself to the summit, standing proudly atop the structure for all to see his triumph.

However, just as quickly as the youth found freedom, restriction soon surrounded him. Four of the captain’s red-coated warrior, each brandishing a deadly rifle fronted with a bayonet, had managed to scale the building as well. How they had managed to do so was anybody’s guess.

“Stand down!” ordered one of the soldiers, standing to the left of the cloaked figure. “We have you surrounded! Lower your guise and you might be shown mercy in the court.” The soldier’s comrades snickered at how he might be shown mercy.

What a load of rubbish. Thought the figure. No one of his repute was ever shown mercy in the king’s- oh wait- his Holinesses court. Not after blowing up a fresh shipment of sugar lumps, stealing multiple articles of clothing worth hundreds of pieces of gold, and stripping the man naked as he was addressing the masses. The youth snickered, remembering the look on the old fart’s face when he realized where his robe had flown off to. That was a day no one would forget. 

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” responded the man, playfully waving his hands. “I wouldn’t get to play with you chaps any more! I thought you enjoyed our games of cat and mouse, no?”

“Shut it, you! Now come quietly or-”

“Or what? You’ll get mud all over your precious cloak?” Said the figure as he continued to mock the squad. “If you think you can capture me, then come and get me!” The figure spread out his arms, allowing his body free for attack.

The squad leader, standing in front of their target, nodded to the rest of his group in affirmation of their next move. With a great battle cry, the four men charged towards their foe, bayonets raised high into the air. 

Aw. And I thought they’d try a little harder this time. Oh well! I guess it wouldn’t be as fun that way.

As the four rifles came down, the coarse vibrations of metal against buckskin filled the air atop the storage house, an ashen cutlass dimly shining in the light of the sun blocking the silver blades of its oppressors.

The youth’s bones trembled under the intensifying pressure of the four weapons above him, forcing him to his knees as he struggled to drive himself back to his feet. Faster than the Salven Bay Barracuda, the rogue unsheathed a second weapon; a black-bladed dagger, striking one of his oppressor’s kneecaps with the hilt and bringing him to the ground.

With the weight of his load lightened, the convict thrust his body upward, overthrowing the four rifles and sending his attackers reeling backwards in shock. Before the man had time to further weaken his foes with a thorough tongue-lashing (as per usual humiliating failure of attack), the soldier that had fallen rose once again, brandishing a lustrous saber before bringing it down on its target.

The serpentine blade only rebounded off the ashen surface of the old weapon of its target, the youth parrying before taunting his foe with a twirl of his weapon. The soldier’s teeth cracked beneath his rage. This... this knave was taunting one of the personal guards of the High King of Verona! I will not stand for this, thought the guardian as he stared down his opponent, who only wore a sickeningly playful smile.

The man’s eyes, however, wandered toward the actions of his fellow comrades. Already they were reloading their rifles, one reaching for his musket that he had cleverly tied to his leg with leather straps. Brandishing a smirk of his own, the warrior charged again, swiping his sword instead in an attempt to spill his victim’s innards onto the rooftop.

With an upwards strike the youth parried, driving his foot into his assailant’s chest and knocking him backwards before blocking a downwards strike when his opponent had recovered. With great excitement he thrust his arms forward, pushing his plaything farther back as they grew closer to the edge of the roof.

Thrust, side-step, parry, thrust, graze, lunge. Step after step, trading blow for blow the two fought, neither with any intent on letting the other win. Or live.

“Ha-ha! Your captain has taught you well, I see!” spoke the cloaked youth before parrying another swipe from his opponent. “It seems that you’ve finally learned to keep a leg up on me!” With another kick, his boot hitting the flat of his attacker’s blade, the masked fighter sent the soldier tumbling backwards into the layering that outlined the platform.

Half of the soldier’s body weight fell from beneath him, plummeting to the streets below with his sword after he began to flail his arms to keep balance.

“Unfortunately, one leg still isn’t enough to keep up with me.” spoke the youth as he clutched the vest under the soldier’s coat.

“Please!” the dangling man begged. “I have a wife, and three children waiting for me at home. They won’t last a month without me! The thieves, the murderers! They’ll-”

“Take very good care of them, I’m sure.” The rooftop judge joked with his victim. “Gravity, however, will do no such thing for you.”

“Wait!” 

But the youth’s fingers had already released their hold on the pristine fabric and let the body tumble over the edge. The soldier’s mind raced with a menagerie of thoughts. How  his family would react to the news of his demise? What would happen to them after his funeral? What on earth did his murderer mean by “gravity”? His lungs devoid of all air and his vocal chords shaking from the his shouts of penultimate agony, the soldier shielded his face from the coming ground, hoping it would soften his fall.

With a great heave and a burning sensation in his spine, the youth forced his own power against the world’s, stopping the soldier from his perilous descent. Though the wall with which he collided showed no such mercy, sending his world into a blackening spiral as his surroundings faded from view.

Sheesh! What do they feed these great oafs, ship timbers?! thought the youth as he hefted the unconscious body of the soldier to safety, laying it beside the bricks that protected the edges of the warehouse.

The youth’s hands went to his knees as his lungs desperately tried to fill themselves with oxygen. Beads of sweat rolled down the man’s forehead under his cloak, with a blanket of moisture already across his skull. 

“Oh, don’t be such a baby, Lewis.” came from another voice, the likes of which sounded feminine. “What ever happened to ‘the man that could lift the world?’” 

Lewis chuckled, rising back to his feet and removing his hood to revealing his charcoal hair soaked with perspiration. “He found an abandoned lass in an alleyway and forgot to piss off the red-coats every other day.” Lewis’ crimson-hazel eyes flared like fire in the morning sun, meeting the gaze of a figure cloaked in threads of white. “It’s good to see you too, Lorelei.”

“You’re just lucky that I saved your arse.” she replied, showing her handiwork with the three unconscious bodies laying beneath her and the stack of rifles behind them. The lass removed her hood as well, letting his silky brown drift to her shoulders. “You’d think His Nakedness would actually train his guards.”

“Oh, give ‘em time, Lorelei.” Lewis sheathed his dagger in the side-slot tied to his leg. “Maybe they’ll be able to fight seagull in a few years. Give or take a day.”

The two let out a hearty chuckle while the soldiers drooled through the edges of their mouths. Partners in crime they were. Even with impossible odds, which could happen every day or once a month depending on the dignitaries that came to port, the two always managed to worm their way through the justice system of Delphi and Verona.

Calming from her exasperating guffaws, Lorelei’s gaze wandered toward the ashen item in the hands of her partner. Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth with interest.

“And where did you happen to get that pretty piece of craftsmanship, Lewis?” she said, pointing to the cutlass. “You haven’t been stealing again, have you?”

Another bounty of guffaws bounded from the two’s throats. Men and woman had already gathered at the base of the building, some pointing in alarm, few cheering them on, and others getting smacked right upside their skulls for idolizing them. The latter of those mostly children. 

“No, not this fine blade.” replied Lewis as he pointed his blade to stare down the end of it’s gray body. “Found this little lady lying in a rubbish barrel. I thought to myself ‘it’d be a crime to leave her lying there’. So, I plucked it from that pile of nothing and looped it ‘round me belt.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with knives, William?” questioned a disgruntled voice from behind.

A smirk crept across the twin faces of the thieves. It’d taken him long enough to arrive. Good thing, too. It was starting to get boring without fresh meat.

“Ah, Sir Wellen. So nice of you to finally join us!” Lewis greeted the man, spinning himself around to get a good look at the captain. “I thought I told you to call me ‘Lewis’ from now on, after our little fiasco in Ravencroft.”

“I don’t honor the requests of criminals.” 

Standing proudly in his uniform, though most of it was now stained brown with mud and murky water, Bryen Wellen was nothing less than a soldier. His blonde hair was short, his body was well built, and he didn’t “no” for an answer. And he liked it that way. His family was a long line of warriors, generals and conquerers, and he’d planned to make his mark today with the capture of Delphi’s most hated criminal.

“You’re coming with me, William.” spoke the captain as he reached for his belt. The man drew a weapon of odd shape and material. A wooden body, evenly polished and rounded at what appeared to be the handle, and metal grafted at the point, switches at the rear of the weapon and hole at the front. Lewis snarled at the item, recognizing it almost instantly. A musket; the very symbol of the highest ranking men and women that served under the king’s armed forces. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

A groan raced up the thieve’s throat, grinding against his vocal cords before Lewis regained some of he decency. But the cry of disapproval wasn’t unneeded, oh no. For one day, one day, he had hoped that he would be able to get through a run with just three death threats. Last he checked, it was up to five today.

Needless to say, this was going to be a long rest of the morning.

“Lorelei.” Lewis beckoned, reaching into his cloak for his hand to return with a sandwich of papers. “Be a dear and tell Carol I said hello while you deliver these, would you?”

Smiling with a shake of her head, Lorelei took the papers, barely moving an inch before Bryen flicked back the ignition on his musket.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Bryen replied.

Lewis’ hand quickly snapped toward his leg, brandishing his own his own weapon for the captain. “Now, let’s be good sports and let Madame Lorelei go. She’s merely making a delivery.”

“You’re in no place to making demands, William!” exclaimed the enraged captain. “Now put down your gun and your sword! The same goes for you, Miss Lorelei.”

Lewis sighed under his breath. Yep. This was definitely going to be a long morning.

“Very well.” Lewis solemnly replied. With a flick of his fingers, the flint-lock control on his weapon snapped back before its shooter pulled back the trigger and sent a ball of lead barreling towards the captain.

Before the captain could even fire his gun, however, the ball had collided with the wooden handle of his musket, shattering the hilt of the weapon and sending wooden shrapnel into the air.

With the captain blinded and his weapon destroyed, Lorelei leapt from the roof to another building below, not even needing Lewis’ orders to know where and when to go.

Lewis’ breathing was heavy, with both content and worry. He hated when he had to fake a killing blow. It was against his principles, after all! Well, for the moment, at least.

Struggling to find his bearings, Captain Bryen tumbled to his feet, nearly falling on his face as he rose back to a fighting stance. The captain’s mind betrayed him at every turn; the floor refused to stop moving, his mentality felt like it had been obliterated, and the world looked like smoke. Blue, red, gray and bright yellow smoke.

But even in his weakened state, the captain’s hand managed to find his saber, though it trembled in his grasp. With his head out of the clouds and his feet planted firmly on the roof, the blade sliced the air to ribbons as it’s master unsheathed it.

The captain chuckled, sneering at his opponent down the blade of his prized possession. “You are a very lucky man, William. Your blood will be the first my blade will taste.”

“Oh, quit monologuing, would you?” Lewis complained with a roll of his eyes. “This isn’t the Grand Royale! I have places to be, things to steal and whatnot.”

Bryen scowled. “Very well, William. If you are so eager to meet your demise, then come at me.”

“I couldn’t agree more!”