Murrul The Deepknight (pt 1)
This is going to be what I consider a true test of my skills and my first “Real” attempt at a story. Criticism is welcome and encouraged.
This story will hopefully feature some cosmic horror elements, action, and adventure. And in true Lovecraftian fashion, is inspired by a dream.
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Murrul gazed out into the ocean horizon whilst clutching his musket.
There wasn't much else to do on the S.S Odera Spider.
While he had the time, he supposed, he could remember the events that brought him here for the hundredth time. His used to be a powerful noble family, sent to oversee part of the development of the mining town of Cirilia. From a young age he was interested in knights and tales of their chivalry, His father even hired one to teach him the sword!
“Those were the good times.” he bitterly reminisced under his breath so his fellow sailors would not think him mad. The invention of gunpowder was said to be the great equalizer, and he thought it was the major catalyst that lead to Cirilia throwing off the chains of Vantian rule. The Age of Steam and Gunpowder they called it, no room for knights or magic. Only scientific advancement and the churning of industry. Pah! He glanced at the GoldBlade strapped to his thigh; one of the only things he inherited from his dead noble house. He bet he had more education and combat prowess then all of the commoners on this very ship! Save the captain.
Briefly he looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. Three soldiers had set up a game of cards and were passing a Tabasco pipe around, the rest of the crew looking about as bored as he did. The captain was presumably still in his cabin; Satisfied that no one was looking,he returned to looking listlessly off into the horizon, reminiscing about days gone by.
Then he noticed something coming over the horizon; A storm, he realized. A huge one at that. The Crew members noticed it a beat after him, each shouting their own creative curse words like a, well, sailor. The captain came out of his study to ask what all the commotion was a about before halting midway when he spotted the storm with the rest of them, it was approaching unnaturally fast and the sailors quickly realized it was no ordinary storm.
“What the hell is that captain?!” one of the younger sailors yelled, Murrul listened in, he wanted to know too. Simultaneously, the captain and most of the older sailors whispered in reverence “Thakdras...The Living Storm” Murrul was greatly confused by this, how could a storm be living? He voiced as much to the captain. “Magic fuckery that's how boy! Thakdras was a folly the likes of which should have never been! Full steam away! Shovel coal like your life depends on it!”
And so they did, but it wasn't enough. The Cirilian steam engine chugged and chugged, they were overclocking it as it was, anymore and the boiler would burst. The captain looked grimly at the approaching storm/man/thing, it was supernaturally quick and gained on them faster than a storm had any right too. The Captain clutched his locket and began to remember the old sailors tales around Thakdras, hopefully it would let some of them escape alive.
Eventually, the storm rolled over them, consuming them in its embrace. Flashes of lightning occasionally came to life, followed by the deafening boom louder than a Vantian cannon salvo. The younger sailors looked around in fear while the older ones merely looked grim and resolute, The Captain called everyone onto the deck of the ship, despite the torrential rainfall. With the grace of a drill sergeant he lined them up and began to speak while pacing in front of them. “Men, today we must deal with sailors worst nightmare; An inescapable storm.” A loud peal of thunder punctuated his last words. One of the younger sailors, wild eyed and panicking, whispered “All Mother preserve us...” The captain paused briefly and looked across the churning water for any signs of an otter, no such luck. “We'll receive no help from the gods i'm afraid, the only thing we have to go on to escape this magical bullshittery is the old sailor traditions. And they demand-” Belatedly, Murrul realized the first mate had snuck up behind him, before he could react he already had him in a headlock. “A sacrifice.”
The first mate was a bear of a man, all muscles tattoos and grit. The fearful expression on his face did not suit him. “I understand that this is the least liked person on board, I could simply throw him off the ship and be done with it, but I believe I am a merciful man.” The Captain looked at him with mock sympathy. “We will make sure your family is duly compensated, and we will never forget the sacrifice you have made for the noble cause of our survival, isn't that right boys?” The rest of the crew chuckled nervously, jumping at the chance to make themselves feel better. Murrul was barely able to process what was going on; He was going to be sacrificed? They were going to help his family?
Somehow he doubted that.
He began to kick and struggle, but was no match for the First mates strength. On the edge of the boat the captain and the rest of the crew saluted him. “You will be remembered” The Captain said.
Cold comfort in a watery grave, he thought to himself.
Even when he could see the end coming he bit and struggled and writhed like a cornered beast. “Let me out!” He pleaded “Don't do thi-” Suddenly, the feeling of gravity. he had a brief moment to have his life flash before his eyes, right before he hit the churning, frothing seawater.
All went black.
This story will hopefully feature some cosmic horror elements, action, and adventure. And in true Lovecraftian fashion, is inspired by a dream.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Murrul gazed out into the ocean horizon whilst clutching his musket.
There wasn't much else to do on the S.S Odera Spider.
While he had the time, he supposed, he could remember the events that brought him here for the hundredth time. His used to be a powerful noble family, sent to oversee part of the development of the mining town of Cirilia. From a young age he was interested in knights and tales of their chivalry, His father even hired one to teach him the sword!
“Those were the good times.” he bitterly reminisced under his breath so his fellow sailors would not think him mad. The invention of gunpowder was said to be the great equalizer, and he thought it was the major catalyst that lead to Cirilia throwing off the chains of Vantian rule. The Age of Steam and Gunpowder they called it, no room for knights or magic. Only scientific advancement and the churning of industry. Pah! He glanced at the GoldBlade strapped to his thigh; one of the only things he inherited from his dead noble house. He bet he had more education and combat prowess then all of the commoners on this very ship! Save the captain.
Briefly he looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. Three soldiers had set up a game of cards and were passing a Tabasco pipe around, the rest of the crew looking about as bored as he did. The captain was presumably still in his cabin; Satisfied that no one was looking,he returned to looking listlessly off into the horizon, reminiscing about days gone by.
Then he noticed something coming over the horizon; A storm, he realized. A huge one at that. The Crew members noticed it a beat after him, each shouting their own creative curse words like a, well, sailor. The captain came out of his study to ask what all the commotion was a about before halting midway when he spotted the storm with the rest of them, it was approaching unnaturally fast and the sailors quickly realized it was no ordinary storm.
“What the hell is that captain?!” one of the younger sailors yelled, Murrul listened in, he wanted to know too. Simultaneously, the captain and most of the older sailors whispered in reverence “Thakdras...The Living Storm” Murrul was greatly confused by this, how could a storm be living? He voiced as much to the captain. “Magic fuckery that's how boy! Thakdras was a folly the likes of which should have never been! Full steam away! Shovel coal like your life depends on it!”
And so they did, but it wasn't enough. The Cirilian steam engine chugged and chugged, they were overclocking it as it was, anymore and the boiler would burst. The captain looked grimly at the approaching storm/man/thing, it was supernaturally quick and gained on them faster than a storm had any right too. The Captain clutched his locket and began to remember the old sailors tales around Thakdras, hopefully it would let some of them escape alive.
Eventually, the storm rolled over them, consuming them in its embrace. Flashes of lightning occasionally came to life, followed by the deafening boom louder than a Vantian cannon salvo. The younger sailors looked around in fear while the older ones merely looked grim and resolute, The Captain called everyone onto the deck of the ship, despite the torrential rainfall. With the grace of a drill sergeant he lined them up and began to speak while pacing in front of them. “Men, today we must deal with sailors worst nightmare; An inescapable storm.” A loud peal of thunder punctuated his last words. One of the younger sailors, wild eyed and panicking, whispered “All Mother preserve us...” The captain paused briefly and looked across the churning water for any signs of an otter, no such luck. “We'll receive no help from the gods i'm afraid, the only thing we have to go on to escape this magical bullshittery is the old sailor traditions. And they demand-” Belatedly, Murrul realized the first mate had snuck up behind him, before he could react he already had him in a headlock. “A sacrifice.”
The first mate was a bear of a man, all muscles tattoos and grit. The fearful expression on his face did not suit him. “I understand that this is the least liked person on board, I could simply throw him off the ship and be done with it, but I believe I am a merciful man.” The Captain looked at him with mock sympathy. “We will make sure your family is duly compensated, and we will never forget the sacrifice you have made for the noble cause of our survival, isn't that right boys?” The rest of the crew chuckled nervously, jumping at the chance to make themselves feel better. Murrul was barely able to process what was going on; He was going to be sacrificed? They were going to help his family?
Somehow he doubted that.
He began to kick and struggle, but was no match for the First mates strength. On the edge of the boat the captain and the rest of the crew saluted him. “You will be remembered” The Captain said.
Cold comfort in a watery grave, he thought to himself.
Even when he could see the end coming he bit and struggled and writhed like a cornered beast. “Let me out!” He pleaded “Don't do thi-” Suddenly, the feeling of gravity. he had a brief moment to have his life flash before his eyes, right before he hit the churning, frothing seawater.
All went black.
"optimism is the spice that saves"