The Adventures of the HMS Harlot

Part 1: Seymour Kipps, Sniper

"EVERYONE TIE YOURSELVES TO THE SHIP!" boomed a voice as the Harlot shuddered in the wind.

I believe the voice belonged to Odessa, but it was hard to tell over the roar of the squall and the screams of Otto whipping people.

I wondered what knot would work best. Can never go wrong with a bowline, but I use a bowline dozens of times a day. I decided on a nice, traced figure eight before another shout was thrown into wind asking assistance. Connor and I exchanged grunts of greeting and we untied ourselves and rushed across the deck. All of a sudden, the ship began to list to the port side, the entire vessel creaking under the strain of the wind. I felt my boots lose traction on the slick deck. I reached for anything to stop my slide towards the railing. My unexpected departure from the harlot was ended as a massive hand gripped the collar of my coat, lurching me back to my feet. For such a large being, Connor was faster than expected, beating me to the foretopsail.

The squall began to fade into the distance as the Harlot limped its way out of the storm. It's been some time since we sailed through a storm like that. I wrung the water out of my coat as I took a survey around my surroundings. The rigging of the topsail has gone to hell and the crow's nest was still smoldering by the fire. Why is it always the crow's nest? I believe I heard Victoria shouting orders but it's hard to tell over the wind. Towards our stern, lightning flashed in the distance, giving light to the clouds. It was beautiful but not the same, as I remembered. The colors and shapes seemed muted somehow. Is it my eyes? No. Not my eyes. I may be getting up there in years, but my eyes are just as sharp as when I was Eldon's age. Besides who could be the next lookout? Barty? I doubt he could spot a ship unless it rammed into the Harlot. Connor perhaps? He is a bit large to be sitting in the crow's nest all day. Maybe Eldon in a few years.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw clouds begin to change shape. The movement was strange, unnatural. There was another ship that was trying to outrun the storm. With familiar movement I gripped my rifle, quickly wiped water off the scope, and brought it to my eye. I no longer felt old, and the world became clearer, sharper. Through the scope I could see the incoming ship begin to break through the clouds. By the shape of the bow, it was merchant ship.

"Ship off the Starboard!" I called.

The deck paused and looked like a swarm of ants as they exploded into movement. Victoria shouted orders, as Roy began to veer towards the ship. I didn't really know why we needed to take with a ship, probably for supplies, or maybe because our captain wanted to hit something. In the end, it doesn't really matter. The activity on the deck slowed somewhat the crew began to size up the ship. 

Even all the way up in the crow's nest, I could hear the screech of swords being torn from their sheaths. Swords. The whole thing is absurd. We live in a world where we have flying ships, floating cities, and in my hands is a device that can kill a man from thousands of feet away, but we still poke each other with pointed pieces of metal. Roy and Connor are a perfect examples. Both men are incredible sailors and decent marksmen, in all great crew mates, but they practice for hours upon hours with their swords, swinging and parrying. Roy boasts about his old Florin sword teacher who could move like a cat and was faster than any bullet. I would like to meet this man and find out exactly how fast he could move. Also, where is Florin right now? 

My internal rant was interrupted by the snaps and cracks of firearms from the merchant vessel. How bold of this little merchant ship! I looked through my scope and quickly found the someone who looked like he was giving orders. He was wearing a very large hat and was waving his arms frantically, trying to give direction.

First a proper storm and now boarding a merchant ship, what an interesting day this had turned out to be. I don't fully understand what our captain's plan is, but as long as we keeping flying it doesn't really matter. Inhale, exhale, squeeze the trigger.

Seymour Kipps