'Prompt' Exchange

Chatterbox: Inkwell

'Prompt' Exchange

'Prompt' Exchange Thread!

A thread for random ideas you thought up but are probably never going to write/a place to brainstorm cool plots, whether or not you end up going any further.

Maybe you'll inspire someone else with cute, heartfelt, mysterious, angsty, or flat-out weird ideas? Maybe you have a really cool first line or interesting premise, but don't know where to use it? Maybe you're looking for something to motivate or inspire you, but don't know where to start? Or perhaps you just want to design an OC without writing a whole story, or concoct an outline for an overly-convoluted scheme? Perhaps you really want to see more post-apocalypse cyberpunk or a fresh take fantasy or pure fluff-mance stories, or something niche and oddly specific, and want to egg random people on until they finally write it for you?

Well why not try exchanging with others? Drop off ideas that you might not want to write an entire thing about, and pick up other people's ideas to test them out. Maybe you'll find a new favourite genre or writer; maybe you'll finally cure your writers' block. Challenge yourself! And of course, have fun! 

submitted by Jaybells, age Obscure, Lost in the Universe
(December 17, 2021 - 12:28 am)

Yay, great! I wasn't sure about this, or if it'd match your styles/tastes. 

Ooh, sorry about Sarai's spelling. I was sorta pronouncing it like: 'sah-rah-EEY,' so Sarai would be better, since it's spelt closer to the pronunciation. Seriously, sorry about the inconsistency, I should've checked it more thoroughly first.

Also, yeah -- we can separate most of the contractions if you think it'd be more clear; I'm writing in a similar way to which I talk, so I tend to include stuff like that for 'voice.' :/

And yes! Maybe they think they're prepared, but it's woefully obvious to any desert-dweller that.. Um... That’s clearly not the case. It also would add some dramatic irony, and a potential for humour, if we choose to go down such a route.

I think Sarai isn't evil xemself, but isn't against some mischief or letting morally dubious things happen out of curiosity, if you know what I mean. This may offer us a spot to draw the line, showing character growth through Serai having to do something large/sacrificial to make it up to others, or possibly even going the opposite way and being consumed by curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat, after all! ;) To be honest, I like the idea of Sarai nearly giving in, only to do the right thing in the end, more, though. We can have a different character's story be a darker one about giving into that temptation, including maybe even that of the 'evil' entity or some rebels or something cool like that! :)

submitted by Jaybells@Flamarestii, Lost in the Universe
(February 9, 2022 - 7:15 pm)

Sounds good! I'll be posting starts of some archeologist charries soon, maybe even in the next few days here! 

submitted by Flamarestii, Pleiades star cluster
(February 9, 2022 - 8:38 pm)

Wow! I really like it.

One thing, do we want to make up pronouns that aren't already actual pronouns? Like instead of using xe, we could create a neutral pronoun. That way we could use xe for humans? Just an idea, we don't have to do it.

Other than that, it's good. 

submitted by Hex@Jay
(February 10, 2022 - 11:40 am)

That would be great, since Sarai is of a different species altogether. I'm not super familiar with these things so I was using it as a placeholder for now, but if you have a pronoun of your own that would work better, we'll go ahead and use that!

submitted by Jaybells@Hex, Lost, somewhere
(February 10, 2022 - 1:14 pm)

I don't, although I'll think about it. We could use some from other languages, although I don't know any.

Also, compleately unrelated, but do you and Flamarestii want to start a new thread for this? 

submitted by Hex@Jaybells
(February 14, 2022 - 11:41 pm)

Yeah, I'll start one one now~

submitted by @Hex, Jaybells
(February 15, 2022 - 8:37 am)

The mists shivered again. Marty clung to the treeand stared in horror.

"We have to get the barrier up again!" he shouted to Spencely. "If we don't they'll see us!

The young marshal shook his head. "It's too late for that, Marty," he said. "They've found us."

 

Tell me what you think! 

 

--Star 

submitted by Shining Star, age 13 eons, The Milky Way, she/her
(February 12, 2022 - 7:09 pm)

Intriguing! Do you have more of a story after this, or is it a one-off thought? Definitely a very tense scene, I'd love to see more!

submitted by Jaybells, Lost in the Universe
(February 12, 2022 - 8:28 pm)

Sometimes there are moments where things just click. It feels awesome, some many-lettered hormone springs into action in your brain, and you feel like you might be on top of the world. It's amazing.

But sometimes those clicks get undone, somehow. It's the worst when it happens slow and drawn out -- not one huge eruption of passion and pain and firey energy -- but instead a lengthy unwinding, drifting apart at the speed of Celestial orbits erring from their paths, and reeking the faint twanging scent of entropy seeping into every last interaction, each final firing of neurons, before the click is completely lost in all but memory.

That is when true tragedy spindles its way into a relationship and eats it alive, one miniscule bite at a time until all is lost. Then, only the relics of the past can stand as final connecting threads; soon to be chipped away -- devoured wholly -- by the moths of time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, I had a mini existential crisis writing this. :/ 

Also, do use this as inspiration for a story if you so please. 

submitted by Jaybells, Lost at Sea
(February 21, 2022 - 1:45 pm)

Omg, that's awesome, Jaybells ~

About my excerpt, I have more of the story--about 100 pages so far, maybe? If you want the plot:

 

12-year-old Marty Griffin has lived in the walled city of Boundary all his life. The citizens are told that there is nothing beyond the wall. But when he gets a job on a pirate ship, things start to change: before Marty knows it, he and the crew are thrown out of Boundary and into a strange world of unknown existance.

As Marty travels through the world, he discovers love, fear, and even his first real home. But when his new home is threatened by a sinister force, will Marty be able to do anything to save it?

 

Ok. Wow. Ok.  THAT was poorly written. :d But I think the story is good. You read it on the Regular Writing Thread, right? I copied into here just in case you didn't:

 

(@Admins, I just copied this from the Regular Writing Thread, so you already passed it, but I get it if you have to look through it again ~ just tryna save you time.) 

d  

 

Boundary is a hidden country enclosed by an enormous stone wall. They say that Boundary is the only place with any life at all; that there is nothing but decaying wasteland beyond the wall. So no-one dares to see if this is true.

 

But within the Walls of Boundary lie secrets—secrets kept from its people for hundreds of years. Secrets that, if revealed, could tear the world apart.

 

This is the story of how these secrets were uncovered and made known, for better or for worse, by one boy.

 

Will you, reader, dare to discover these secrets along with Marty Griffin? Or will you turn away, as so many in Boundary have, in favor of a safe, yet constricted, life within its walls?

If you are one of those people, close this book now.

But if you are brave…read on.

 

c

  

 

A Guide

to Boundary

       Boundary is divided into different districts. Different kinds of people come from each of these places.

 

The Heights

The Heights themselves are divided into different territories.

       The Upper Heights: From here come the kings, princes, dukes, and wealthy people. They rule over each of their different castles and streets, and they are often devious or fighting over this and that. They live in very tall towers at the top of the Great Mountain.

       The Middle Heights: People of middling sorts live here—neither rich nor poor, devious nor honest, royalty nor commoners. They live in not grand, not dumpy dwellings and are (mostly) respectable.

       The Lower Heights: Here dwell those who barely scrape together enough money to live on and don’t care how they get it. Lying always in the shadow of the mountain, their houses are crumbling shacks or sheds on dirty streets.

 

The Flatlands

The Flatlands are also divided into different territories.

       The Lows: Here live snatchers and people who would steal the clothes off your back if they got half the chance. Untrustworthy thieves and scoundrels hide out within the Lows, which stretch from forests to vast savannas in their wideness. They are by far the largest section of Boundary.

       The Mudflats: The Mudflats are populated by hardworking, honest folk, such as farmers or fishermen. They live in houses handmade out of mud, and they would never steal for anything.

       The Lowlands: The Lowlands are inhabited by nosy old ladies, snooty bankers, and doctors of philosophy. They live in shiny, tall buildings that gleam in the sun and that are polished by workers every day.

 

The Docks

The Docks deserve their own section. There are two docks on each end of Boundary, called somewhat unremarkably Dock One and Dock Two. Dock One is on the south-eastern side of Boundary, while Dock Two is on the north-eastern side. This makes little difference to the amount of visitors, and poor people often make a living by ferrying visiting citizens from one Dock to another. Dock Two tends to be windier and rainier, with more violent people hiding in its alleys; while Dock One has a more sunny, open air. Both, however, are dangerous.

Citizens of every section in Boundary come to the Docks to trade and sail, though hardly anyone is brave enough to live there. Those with very little money can rent the big apartment buildings that line the Docks, but few do.

       The docks are a place of pubs, taverns, inns, stalls, and markets; pirates and swordfighters; respectable and unrespectable alike.

       Now on to the story.

 

PROLOGUE

 

The Unexpected Child

      It was predawn in the Lows; a quiet time of day after night’s cold encirclement but before the sun’s warm embrace. All was still outside of Apartment 13.

         Then, suddenly, footsteps echoed on the street below.

         And a light went on in the upper window.

         A figure in a flapping cloak appeared at the end of the street. He took a careful look around; then stopped before the door of the staircase leading to Apartment 13 and knocked; twice.

         Instantly, footsteps began behind the door, and a woman’s voice echoed through the passageway.

         “Who is it?”

         “The charmer of charms, the piper of piping, the hooved miracle,” he answered cheerfully.

         The door banged open. “Luke!” The woman inside glowered at him. “That is not the code we agreed upon! ‘The hooved miracle’?! You are the most conceited man I have ever met!”

         “Sorry,” he said with a slight smile. "I forgot our code, so I made one up.”

         "I could tell it was you,” she said briskly. “Only you would ever say ‘the hooved miracle’.”

         He laughed and came inside. “Too, true, Eluda. You know me so well!”

         “You are my husband,” she sniped. "A rather reckless one, at that—speaking of which, how did it go tonight?”

         “Oh, fine,” he said. “Mr. High-and-Mighty Richard Royal never even noticed us sneak out with half his treasury, and thanks to Joe’s magnificently made sleeping powder, half the homeless in the Upper Lows are now wealthy enough to buy houses in the Middle Heights!”

         “You loon!” laughed Eluda. “Sleeping powder, huh? Clever, but not the usual for the Thieves’ Den…”

         “Hey, it worked,” Luke protested. “Next week, we’re—”

         Waaah!

         They paused.

         “What was that?” Eluda demanded.

         “Sounded like a baby,” said Luke.

         Eluda frowned. “Why would a baby—”

         Waaah!

         Their eyes met.

         “Our front steps,” they said, and raced for the door.

         There it wasa baby, wrapped in a tattered blanket in a dirty basket on the front step, crying softly.

         “What the—?” Eluda whispered.

         Luke bent down. “There’s something written on the basket,” he muttered.

         Eluda leaned forwards. It was a name, scrawled in what looked like charcoal pencil, and they read it together in the dim yellow light of the oil street lamp above their door.

         No last name, just the first, scribbled messily on a bit of paper pinned to the handle:

        

Marty

 

ef

 

 

PART ONE

 

The Wall

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

The Advertisement

 

         It was a warm, still day at the Docks. Smoke spiraled lazily into the air. Hardly anyone was up yet; only a boatman reading the daily paper and a circle of men around a grill. Even the carriages that bumped over the woodwalks throughout the day, carrying people here and there, hadn’t begun their rounds yet.

         The boatman lit his pipe with a blissful sigh, took a sip of coffee, and turned the page of his newspaper.  What a lovely day for a sail! He would go out after breakfast and have a leisurely day on the water, ferrying people back and forth between Boundary’s two points of interconnection, Dock One and Dock Two.

         His peaceful morning, however, was interrupted by the arrival of a scrawny boy appearing out of, apparently, nowhere.

         The boatman jumped and attempted to conceal his yelp of surprise. “See here, kid,” he sputtered, jabbing the air with his pipe, “where’d you come from? And say,” he cried, noticing a scrap of grubby sailcloth clasped in the kid’s hand, “where’d you nick that from, eh?”

         "I didn’t nick it from nowhere,” said the kid stubbornly.

         The waves splashed softly as if in denial. The boatman raised an eyebrow.

         “Is that so?”

         "I didn’t nick it from nowhere,” crowed the kid, "I nicked it from somewhere!”

         The boatman’s eye grew wide with shock, and for a moment it seemed as if he were going to leap upon the boy. But then he burst out with a great roar of laughter that shook the docks and startled the men cooking breakfast. One of them even dropped his hat into the grill, so loud was the laughter.

         “You’ve got some nerve, kid,” guffawed the boatman. “What’s your name?”

         “Marty.” He smiled. “Well, Martin, but—just Marty, really.”

         “Well, Marty. Where’re you from?”

         “The Lows. Lowlands, I mean.”

         The boatman looked him over carefully. The Lows and Lowlands were two very different places. “Spit it out, boy. Which one?”

         Marty rocked back on his heels, trying to gauge the boatman’s preference. “Where are you from?”

         “The Mudflats,” grunted the boatman. Marty relaxed; Mudflat-landers accepted all sorts, from snooty nobles to ragged poor people on the streets.

         “Lows,” Marty admitted, relieved. “Do you know Luke the Charmer?”

         “Aye,” said the boatman around a gulp of coffee. “Half a shade he is—why?”

         “My father,” said Marty quietly.

         The boatman suddenly looked a whole lot friendlier. “Oh ho!” he cried. “You don’t mean to tell me that you are Marty Griffin, son of Luke the Charmer and Eluda the Beautiful?

         “That’s me,” said Marty.

         "I knew your dad when he was just a boy,” chuckled the boatman. “We were the best of friends. Ha! The fun we had!”

         Marty played with the scrap of stolen sailscloth. “Oh, I know you!” he exclaimed suddenly. “You must be Eddy Sherbett! My father has spoken highly of you.”

         “Aye, I’d be offended if he hadn’t,” grunted Eddy. “But tell me, young Marty, why are you here at the Docks, if not to bother an old boatman simply for fun? The Lows are rather far away, for such a trip!”

         “No, that isn’t why I’m here,” Marty said with a laugh. “No, no…I want a job.” He picked up a chunk of wood and threw it into the sea. He did not tell the boatman why he wanted a job.

         The boatman filled his pipe again and set his newspaper aside. He blew out a large puff of smoke. The men down the walk were still grilling, and the smell of breakfast wafted through Marty’s nostrils.

         The boatman chuckled again. “Well, that’s a new one,” he remarked. "A Lowtizen being respectable!”

         Marty grinned wickedly and glanced at Eddy. “Who said it was respectable?” he asked. “Who says I don’t want to be…a pirate?”

         And he drew from his pocket the sailcloth, which only 12 minutes earlier he had snatched from a signpost right under the nose of the snoozing guardsman. If it didn’t turn out, he’d return it later.

The notice read:

 

 

PIRATE APPRENTICE WANTED NOW

BOARD AND MEALS PROVIDED

GOOD JOB, GOOD PAY ABOARD THE GOOD SHIP THE TRAILBLAZER

Apply for job at the Gray Willow Inn on the 16th of December. Ask for Marren at 8:39am

 

“So there you have it,” said Marty. "I’m here to find a job. And it’s ten minutes to eight right now, isn’t it?” I wonder who Marren is…

         Eddy looked pleased. “So it is,” he said. “You’d better start out now, then—it’s a bit of a walk to the Gray Willow. You take care of yourself, now.”

         Just then, there was a rustle behind them and Marty’s sister, Annie Griffin, emerged slowly from the nearest alley. She had dark brown hair and beautiful green eyes, and she was somewhat feisty. At eight years old, she had given Marty exactly eighty-three black eyes and seven broken bones (he kept count) in her lifetime. Marty wasn’t quite sure what to do with her.

         “Mr. Eddy, would you take care of Annie for me while I’m at sea?” Marty blurted.

         “Why, sure!” Eddy beamed. “But where are your parents?”

         “Oh.” Marty was suddenly at a loss for words. “Um—well—they’re—busy.” He winced at how that had sounded, but the boatman did not seem suspicious.

         “Aye, lad,” he said smilingly. "I’ll take care of her for ye, you can be sure of that.”

         “Thanks, Mr. Eddy,” Marty said, relieved. He brushed some dirt of his cheek and hugged Annie.

         “You know what to do,” he said into her ear very softly. “Stay close to Uncle Eddy, never explore alone, don’t go off with strange people. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine! We’re Griffins. We know how to survive!”

         “We know how to survive!” she echoed, bumping her fist against his. Then she looked up at him worriedly. “Marty, I’m scared for you! The sea—the sea is dangerous.”

         "I know.” He kissed her head. "I’ll be fine.”

         He turned to go.

         “WAIT!”

         “What is it?” He turned around to see Annie racing towards him, her eyes glowing with worry and love.

         She took hold of his hand and put something into it. Then she kissed him one more time and ran away, back to where Eddy was waiting.

         Marty stared after her for a minute, then turned and kept walking. Only then did he realize what she had given him—her topaz stone, which she had found when she was six. She treasured it as her own and had always refused give it up—until now.

         Marty turned and softly cried, though he knew he must be brave for her. His sister could be a brat and a pest, but she had a loving heart.

         At last she was out of sight. Marty wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to go on.

         After a while, he stopped and stared down at his reflection in the water. A grubby-faced boy of twelve with dirty white-blond hair looked back at him, his gray-blue eyes bright in his lightly-tanned, freckle-scattered face. He wore brown shorts, scuffed, muddy sandals, and a very-stained grayish t-shirt. A small silver dagger was strapped to his belt, given to him by his father one day, back in Marty’s old Lows home.

         Marty could still remember that day. It had been bright and glorious, just a few weeks before the storm, and Luke the Charmer—as he was called—had given it to Marty with a few words of cation and love.

         Never go anywhere in Boundary without a weapon, he had said, his star-blue eyes grave. Even if you were in the Mudflats, the occasional Reinforcer might show up.

         Reinforcers were strange men in black who showed up now and then to reinforce Boundary’s few—but strong—laws. They were bound to get a bit too violent, and one would have to fend them off with a sword or other weapon.

         Marty touched the dagger’s rough, intricately-carved hilt. He had memorized every curve, every divot of that hilt—after all, it had been Luke’s before it was his, and now it was one of his last memories of his father.

         Marty had not told Eddy that Luke had set off on a seafaring journey, been caught in the legendary Great Storm, and never returned. Marty had been left to care for his mother, Eluda,  and his younger sister, Annie, until their mother had died. Then he and his sister had spent four years on the streets, stealing food wherever they could—but that was over now; Marty was old enough to get a job. Now he needed work; work that could pay for their expenses now that their parents were gone.

         Marty began walking. The clock started to chime: Bong. Bong. Bong. And old man with a bushel of greasy pies was setting up a stall nearby. Bong. Bong. Bong. There was the sixth bell. Six,  not nine, thank goodness—Marty couldn’t stand any more bad luck.

         Bong…

         Marty was suddenly struck by a strange feeling that this was a day he would remember forever.

         Bong!

         The hour was here. It was eight o’clock.

         It was time.

         Time to find a job.

         Time to find a path.

         Time to find a destiny.

 

ab

 

         Marty set off at a brisk pace, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face. Pausing to throw breadcrumbs to the fish in the lagoon, he glanced out at the horizon. It was such a perfect day that the Great Wall was clearly visible; a sharp black line far away. People rushed past him, no-one paying any attention to a small boy with tattered clothes and a bit of scrappy sailcloth.

         Of course, that could all change in an instant. As Luke had taught Marty, the Docks were dangerous places. Never trust anyone, he had told Marty. There are people here who’d break your neck for a little money.

         His hand going to his dagger, Marty turned away from the fish in the lagoon with a shudder. He could not relax; he could never let his guard down. He had learned how to defend himself from his life on the streets, not to mention from being the son of a thief, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be taken by surprise.

         He turned suddenly. Had he missed the posters? No, here they were right now. He slid swiftly down the gutter and alighted next to the wall of posters of his father.

         All across it, everywhere, on every open surface, there were posters of Luke Griffin. Luke the Charmer; Marty’s father. His face grinned down at them all, and his grin was just like Marty’s—teasing, with just a hint of wickedness.

         Marty couldn’t count the times he had stolen these posters; tore away the writing to leave just the picture of his lost father’s face. His room had been covered with them, before they’d had to leave—tacked to the walls, taped to the desk, pinned on the headboard of his bed. All were of his father, as if having a million pictures of him could bring him back.

         Marty’s mother used to say that having so many photos (all from wanted posters) wouldn’t help anything. Luke would not return because of them. But that didn’t stop Marty from snitching more whenever he could. He must have thousands by now—enough to fill a hundred rooms—that he had kept all in a precious trunk under lock and key. Any photos he could get his hands on. Tiny pieces of the father he had not known as well as he would’ve liked to.

         He reached beneath his tattered shirt and felt the cool comfort of the locket. In it was a four-piece picture: himself, Annie, Luke, and Eluda, all smiling from a frame of gold. He never dared show the locket in public; if it were stolen he did not know what he should do. It was not the gold he cared for but the photos of his family; of the happiness that had been theirs before fate tore them apart.

         He turned and beheld the poster that he longed for most of all.

         It was an enormous photograph of his father’s smiling face, and what’s more it wasn’t even a wanted poster. Emblazoned with faded yellow letters that had once been bright, it proclaimed: THE PIED PIPER WILL SAVE US ALL!

         Of course. The Pied Piper was the name of Marty’s father when he was a thief. At home and with friends, he’s been just Luke, but when he was on the job he was the Pied Piper. No one knew that the man wanted by all the Reinforcers had been a father; a father called Luke Griffin.

         If they knew who Marty was, would the Reinforcers want him too? That was why he had never taken the huge poster; it was much too dangerous. No one but he and Annie knew of Luke’s death—if Marty was seen carrying it away he would be taken as his father’s accomplice. As if; how he had begged to be just that! I can be the swift-hooved goat, he had said somewhat bizarrely; but the answer was always no.

         And now suddenly he did not care—he was going to sea if he got the job and the poster was coming with him! And he pulled it off of the wall, crammed it in his knapsack, and ran.

         The Gray Willow was a small tavern in a brightly-lit alley. Marty entered the alley nervously, having been told never to explore back alleys. He’d been told of the awful creatures that inhabited them—bloodworms, toothsuckers, crystachia. But they hated light, so all should be well.      

         He opened the door, wincing as a little bell jangled. He hated drawing attention to himself. He pulled at his shirt, realizing that he really should’ve brought a hooded jacket. Oops!

         He entered and blinked, finding himself in a large room lit with globes of starlight. It had a generally laid-back atmosphere: all sat laughing and talking. Marty passed unnoticed through their midst.

         Soon, despite the outward friendliness of the place, he began to spot unrest: there were knives tucked through belts; swords peeking out from beneath capes; daggers close at hand. Marty kept his own dagger hidden and tried to assume a friendly, unobtrusive stance as he clunk among them. I must be careful, he thought.

         The landlord was a very baggy little man with ragged clothing and bulging eyes. He was jittery and his breath smelt terrible!

         “Hi,” said Marty. “Is there a Marren here?”

         “Eh?” quacked the old man. “Nay. Nobody ‘ere. Jus’ a Marren; ye might try ‘er.”

         But that’s what I SAID! Marty winced at the scent of the old man’s breath. “Thanks,” he said, and set off without much hope. After asking directions of the more lucid of the drinkers, he was pushed by many hands and voices to a corner where a hooded figure sat with no glass of tankard.

         Marty went up to it. “Er, um, excuse me,” he mumbled. “Is your name Marren?”

         There was a brief second of silence.

         And then, in an instant, the person threw their hood back, at the same time drawing a dangerous-looking sword from somewhere beneath the cloak.

         Bright red hair fell free.

         The stranger was a girl!

         “Yes, I am Marren,” she said in a voice colder than ice, pointing the sword directly at his heart. “And you shall now tell me exactly why you want to know—if you want to live.”

 

ef

 CHAPTER TWO

 

Marren

      Anthony Prickett leapt from ramp to ramp, avoiding vendors with handcarts, little old ladies, and street gangs without blinking an eye. He scaled a scaffolding, slid down a pipe, and came to a halt on a three-inch window ledge.

         Tony, as he was called, didn’t have long to wait before a rope dropped a ways past him, carrying a large, heavily-padlocked chest. The rope set the chest down on the scaffolding just below Tony and then hung there, drifting gently—perfect!

         Tony snagged the rope and leaped from the scaffolding. He then plummeted down some two hundred feet to the docks below without missing a beat, and, a moment before he would’ve smashed into the Great Wall surrounding Boundary, let go of the thick, salt-encrusted rope and twisted round.

         Elated, he sailed a short distance through the air, landing lightly on his toes just at the edge of the dock. Balanced on the verge of falling into the murky water, he executed a quick 90o turn and skipped off, pleased.

         No one was better at roofskipping and roperiding than Tony Prickett!

         Smiling to himself, he remained in the shade of the tree, surveying the mood of the Docks. Things could change any minute, and one had to keep his guard up. This wasn’t the Lows, where you could at least trust people to be untrustworthy; nor was it the Mudflats, where you could sleep peacefully in the open without waking up dead.

         The Docks were unpredictable.

         Today, at least, the mood seemed upbeat and relatively friendly. There was a buzz of excitement in the air that always came with the beginning of a year. It was the first day of 3021, and the mood was jovial.

         But little did Tony know—little did anyone know—that beyond the Wall, the tides were turning.

         The wind was rising.

         Everything was about to change.

         Forever.

 

ab

 

         Tony smiled at the scene. Vendors were setting up their stalls, ringing their bells, making their deals. Passerby were beaming at the glorious sky. A light breeze was blowing, and joy had entered the hearts of every person in Boundary.

         Dock 1 stretched on into the distance. Enormous apartment buildings stood to the left of Tony, being consistently constructed higher and higher as they sank into the slightly-soggy earth. Past them, there were rows and rows of shops and pubs and whatnot. People from every corner of Boundary milled about as the Docks slowly woke up. Cloaks flapped, gowns fluttered, smiles were everywhere—

         Wait.

         Tony spotted a black cloak whisking among the crowd and for a moment thought it looked a little bit like the cloak that his best friend owned. But Marty was somewhere else, finding a job. He knew for a fact that it was past the time he was supposed to meet his hopeful-employer.

         Suddenly, the person in the cloak whipped round to stare at him. For an instant their eyes met, then the person turned away and pulled down his hood. A chill ran up and down Tony’s spine.

         He hadn’t gotten a very good look, but he could’ve sworn that person was Marty—except that he had black hair, not blond.

         And then a rasping voice came from beneath the cloak.

         A voice that sounded truly evil.

         "I thought I’d killed you.”

         And then he was gone.

 

ab

 

         Marty gulped. It was somewhat hard to think with a very sharp sword pointed at your chest. “Um. Hi, Marren. Um, um. Um. You are Marren right? Um.” As soon as he said it he regretted it—she had just SAID she was Marren, after all?

         She flicked the tip of his nose with her sword. “Who wants to

know?”

         “Um…” Was that all he could say? "I’ve come about the, you know, the notice!” he cried, producing it. “This—it—a pirate ship?”

         Marty grinned hopefully.

         Marren lowered her sword suspiciously. “You want to be a pirate?”

         “Sure. I mean yes—I mean aye, um.” Why wouldn’t his tongue work? "I do, ma’am.” She didn’t look much older than him. She could even be younger; perhaps a messenger.

         “Hmm.” Marren considered him. “Home-district?”

         “Lows,” he said recklessly. Normally he would’ve tried to gauge her preference, but the threat of a sharp sword pointed at you tended to make one strangely honest.

         Marren, however, brightened. “Name?”

         “Um…Martin. Martin Griffin.” He smiled weakly. “Marty, though, is what I like to be called.”

         She gasped, and he wasn’t sure why, until she took hold of his hand. An odd thrill went through him, and he did not pull away, although he tried to convince himself that this was because her next words were so shocking they blew him away.

         "You,” she said in a low voice, “you are the son of Luke Griffin?”

         Marty’s jaw dropped. “What. What? But, but! How, how on earth could you know his name?!”

         “He is well known among all thieves and pirates,” she replied, smiling. “Our hero, after all! A son of the Piper!” She shook her head. "I should’ve noticed the resemblance. You look just like him, only smaller.”

         Marty smiled nervously. He couldn’t count how many times he’d hid from the Reinforcers because of that exact resemblance. “My eyes are grayer,” her pointed out.

         She waved it away. “That matters little.”

Marty sighed. He always wondered where he’d got his eyes from—his mother’s had been brown, and his father’s had been blue. Anna’s were bright green, which according to Luke came from their Aunt Girda, who had vanished at a young age.

“Alright.” Marren snapped to attention, breaking into Marty’s thoughts and jolting him to the present. “Come with me, Martin Griffin.”

         And with that, she sheathed her sword and led him away.

 

ab

 

         “Killed me?!” Tony yelped. “What on earth are you talking about?”

         But the cloaked wierdo had vanished.

         And the oddest thing was, Tony didn’t see him anywhere in the crowd.

 It was as though he had disappeared, literally, into thin air.

 

ab

 

Marty hurried down the dank smelling alleyway, tugged along by his redheaded companion. A toothsucker slunk down from the rafters, teeth bared, but Marren clicked at it and it went away.

"I used to know Luke,” said Marren, “but I haven’t seen him in a while—what’s happened?”

“He’s dead,” said Marty. “Lost at sea.”

Marren looked sad. "I’m sorry,” she told him. “How long?”

Marty looked down. “Six years,” he said softly. “It’s been six years.”

“He was a good father, I’m sure.” Marren patted his shoulder comfortingly/

“Yes, he was,” Marty said with a little smile. “He gave me this dagger.” He pulled it out of its scabbard and held it up to the light, where it glinted bright silver. “He said never to go anywhere without a weapon.”

Marren took it and examined it carefully. “Wise words..” she murmured. She looked up at him. “You’ll need this.”

Marty looked steadily back at her. "I know.”

“Don’t get me wrong.” Marren handed him back his dagger. “We aren’t normal pirates.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope,” she replied, a little proudly. “Let me explain: we do not steal. Much. We rescue sinking ships. We save drowning people. Of course, from a distance it looks as though we sunk the ship, took everyone on board it prisoner, and plundered all the treasure like perfectly normal pirates.

“However,” she went on, “just because we don’t steal doesn’t mean we don’t have to fight other pirates now and then to protect the people on the ship. So you’ll need that dagger, understand? If you take the job, anyway—”

“Uh, Miss Marren?” Marty interrupted her.

“Call me Marren, please, Griffin.”

“Only if you call me Marty. Anyways, we’re being followed!”

Marty pointed. Behind them stood a disheveled boy with scraggly black hair—Marty’s best friend, Tony Prickett.

He grinned hopefully at them.

Out came Marren’s sword. “What do you want?”

“Ack! No need to be hasty,” Tony yelped. "I come in peace.”

"I’ll believe it when you prove it,” snarled Marren, maintaining her grip on the sword.

Tony glanced at the rather sharp sword. "I don’t like pointy things sticking at me,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Marren demanded. “Well you’d better run like a squirrel or you’ll find a few pointy things sticking in you.” She brandished the sword.

“Alright, alright!” Tony put up his hands and cast a help me look at Marty. Marty smirked at him, and Tony gave up and returned to Marren. “Sheesh. Fine. I just heard what you were saying. I want to be a nice pirate, too!”

Marty stifled a laugh at the withering looking Marren cast at the newcomer. “You want to be a…‘nice pirate.’”

Tony nodded so vigorously that Marty was surprised his head didn’t fall off.

“Well,” Marren said slowly, “normally I’d send you on your way with a nice smack to serve you right.” (Marty cast a surprised glance at her here—she was young but fierce.) “However, you could be useful—we’re in need of a lookout. Stygian kidnapped ours.”

“Who?”

“Stygian, the darkest pirate ever to sail the Bay,” Marren hissed. “He and his wife, Shadowheart, have been responsible for so many sunken ships…” She turned back to Tony. “Well, then. Where are you from?”

“Um.”

“Never heard of it.” Marren started to turn. “If you don’t mind…”

“No! Wait!” Tony jumped about. “My hometown’s the Lower Heights!”

It is? Marty had met Tony in the Lows, so he’d always assumed that was his hometown.

Marren’s eyes brightened. “Hmm…name?”

“Anthony Prickett. Tony, please.”

“Alright, Tony. Marty. Both of you. Come with me.”

 

They walked through long, cobbled alleyways, where small things scuttled and the shadows were too big and dark and active to be shadows. They walked through forests, where haunting, alluring cries echoed through the trees and spiders larger than ships hung in webs the size of apartment buildings. They walked through meadows where dragonflies swooped and bees buzzed and butterflies fluttered. They walked until they reached open air, saw the glitter of blue water ahead, and came, at last, to the sea.

In the harbor drifted a huge boat, bobbing gently in the waves. She was a beautiful brown ship, with the word Trailblazer carved into her side. Enormous sails billowed in the breeze, and a traditional pirate flag—but white, with a black skull-and-crossbones—fluttered from the mast. Marty stared in amazement; he had never seen such a ship!

“Who’s the captain?” he asked.

"I am, you dolt,” said Marren.

“You?!” Marty demanded. “But you’re not even older than am!”

"I am obviously more mature than you if you think age matters,” she sniped. “How old are you, thickhead?” she asked, pointing at Tony.

“Twelve.” If Tony was offended at being called a thickhead, he didn’t show it. “Twelve and 30 days.”

“See, I’m still older than this dope,” said Marren calmly, jabbing a finger in Tony’s direction. "I’m twelve and a half!”

“Oh, I’m twelve and 10 months,” Marty replied gleefully. "I guess I’m better suit to be captain…”

“You dummy!” she cried. "I am older than you!” (Marty didn’t see how THAT could be.) “It’s skill, of course, though, skill that is the real measure! Sailing has been in the family for many generations! The ocean is in my blood!”

“Oh, kid am I?” he demanded gleefully. “Of course, I lived on the streets for four years, so maybe I have that lovely measure of skill that you were talking about…”

She stopped. “Wait, what? You lived on the streets?”

“For four years, in the Lows,” he answered. “With my sister. After our mother died.”

“Then you must be very good at fighting,” she replied.

“Yes.” Marty glanced at the distant rooftops of the Lows. "I had to protect my sister!”

 

It was two years ago. Marty was ten years old and hiding behind a dumpster, trying to find food for Annie. Unfortunately, the dump truck had just come through, and there was nothing but a soggy candy wrapper in the dumpster. Marty poked it and sighed. How long could they survive this?

Just then, he heard Annie shout from their nearby house. In a flash, he was round the corner, his heart pounding.

He found Annie cornered by three angry-looking kids, a street gang Marty had been unlucky enough to run across before. Their names were Vilfredo, Geb, and Ellis. He still had the scars.

Marty leaped down of the wall, drawing his dagger as he did so. “LEAVE HER ALONE!” he screamed.

The three thugs looked up in surprise to see a scruffy-looking ten-year-old boy bearing down on them, silver knife flashing, his eyes burning with unquenchable flame. He would’ve looked formidable, had he not been so very small.

Vilfredo laughed and put his fist up to send Marty flying. However, Marty’s speed and size gave him an advantage, and he slid to the side, diving beneath the bully. He closed his eyes and sent out a flying kick, knocking the thug’s legs out from beneath him. Eyes still closed, he hurled himself at the other two, slamming into them like a human cannonball. Minutes later, when he opened his eyes, all three gangsters were moaning on the pavement.

Annie blinked at him. “Mawty, that was amazing.”

“Oh.” He looked at her. He had trained himself to fight blind because so many of the attacks came at night, and he actually found it easier because his other senses heightened and he heard attacks before they came. “Um…thank you.”

 

Now, Marty came out of his split-second flashback and found he was kneeling. That’s odd. I’m sure I didn’t fall. He got up quickly, smiled a Marren and said, "I’ll take the job.”

“Dimwit,” she said unceremoniously. “You haven’t even seen the ship yet.”

They made for the ladder, and Marren placed her gloved hand on the third rung. But before they went up, she looked at them and said firmly, “Let's be clear here. No one questions my rule, least of all newbies. And,” —here she met their eyes— “everyone on this ship would give their life for our cause.”

And with that, they stepped onto the deck.

“Check it out, crew!” said Marren proudly. "I have brought back two crew members, one of them the son of the Pied Piper!”

 Half a minute later, Marty was surrounded by the crew of the Trailblazer: all of them shaking his hand, offering him their regrets, welcoming him to his new home.

 

ab

 

  “HEAVE HO!”

Shouts woke Marty from his fitful doze and for a moment he thought he was back in his home, in the rickety apartment on Floor 13…but then he heard the creaking of the ship and the slapping of the waves on the hull, and he remembered…

“Marty, get up here, you have to see this!” Tony stuck his head into Marty’s cabin. “It’s amazing!”

Marty jumped up, grabbed his satchel, and shot out of the door of the cabin. The deck was rolling, but of course Marty knew how to keep his balance. He turned towards the north.

The shores of Boundary were growing smaller and smaller behind them!

Elation rushed through him. He was sailing; sailing at last! He leapt up the deck.

Marren stood at the wheel, her lips spread in a wild grin. The salt was caking her hair and spattering her forehead, but from her face Marty could tell that there was nowhere else she’d rather be in the world.

And it was exhilarating, Marty admitted to himself. The faint line of the land as Boundary grew smaller; the distant Wall, the open ocean all…around…them…

Marty’s elation evaporated. He was on the sea, the hateful sea which had taken his father’s life—what on earth had he been thinking. But the shores were beyond. There was no going back. No escape. he could only go forward; forward upon the ocean—his father’s murderer.

And as always the Wall glowed in the distance, close but ever farther away.

Marty touched his cheek and found that it was wet with what could’ve been spray…or tears. 

 

 

submitted by Shining Star, age 13 eons, The Milky Way
(February 22, 2022 - 2:51 pm)

Oh my word, Shining Star, that is SO GOOD!!! I read that whole part of the story in one sitting and- do you have more? The suspense is killing me! I love your writing style and the characters are so genuinely real! 

I did notice a few typos (really sorry, I'm the sort of person that finds all the typos in things and corrects them :)

-Part one of Marty, when he says bye to Annie: "He brushed some dirt off his cheek" instead of "of his cheek".

-When he's thinking about his father giving him the dagger, did you mean to say "Luke the Charmer - as he was called - had given it to Marty with a few words of caution and love" instead of "cation and love"?

-When Marty has the flashback of his confrontation with the street gang, you said "Marty leaped down of the wall", did you mean "off the wall"? 

-After his flashback: "He got up quickly, smiled a Marren" could you change to "smiled at Marren?" 

-At the end, when Marty says, "I guess I'm better suit to be captain," can you add suited to it?

Those are just for if you post somewhere else in the future and want to fix them. 

That is such a great first chapter!!!

submitted by Flamarestii
(February 24, 2022 - 9:07 pm)

"The word's gone mad, so how do I protect you now?"

submitted by Jaybells, Lost in the Dark...
(February 22, 2022 - 9:29 pm)

*world, not word 

Lol 

submitted by Jaybells, Lost in a Dream~
(February 24, 2022 - 9:31 pm)

Hi Flameresti! (Not sure if i spelled ur name right,  forgot to check before I pressed 'add comment')

I DO have more of the story! I have written a lot. I will post it now:

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

The Battle

“Do you ever wonder what’s beyond the Wall?”

Marren’s soft voice took Marty by surprise. He swiped his face angrily. What was wrong with him? Lowtizens never cried.

Apparently I’m breaking every Lowtizen characteristic, he thought a little proudly. First I get a job, now I cry. Ha.

He turned around slowly, his eyes seeking Marren’s shock of hair. She was not easy to miss. There she stood, a little smile on her normally-grave face.

“Well?”

“Of course,” said Marty. “Everyone does at some point, don’t they? But no-one goes beyond the Wall.” 

Marren tilted her head. “But they have tried,” said the young captain quietly. He startlingly-green eyes stared levelly at him from her sun-tanned face. “Many have tried, myself among them. But the Wall—the Wall is impenetrable. Even when I sail far enough away that the shores of Boundary become misty and faint, I am still only sailing a toy boat in a great bay, the Wall grows no nearer! Always it is there! Always am I blocked by some unseen force; blocked from realizing my dream!” Her eyes burned with passion and frustration. Her eyes, her beautiful green eyes.

Marty stood up slowly. Despite the fact that they barely knew eachother, he stepped forwards and gently, tentatively, put his arm around her. She flinched but did not pull away. Their eyes met.

“We’ll do it,” Marty said with determination. “We’ll do it, you and I—together we shall cross the Wall!” And as the words fell from his lips he was filled with a wild, sudden desire to see beyond the Wall—see if there was any world beyond Boundary; or if it was truly all desolation and abandon and desperation forever, as all the tales said. See if there was a salty river much swifter and wilier than any sea within the walls of Boundary. See if past this country there was really no life left but skumdinkers in the air and dirtiworms in the soil. 

He wanted to break the bonds of Boundary.

He wanted to see beyond the horizon.

He wanted to go beyond the wall!

Little did he know that soon he would be forced to do just that.

 

ab

 

The moon gleamed above the ship. The Trailblazer’s prow sliced through the water smoothly and swiftly. Perched in the crow’s nest, Tony surveyed the horizon in silence.

On the deck, Marty was asleep. The captain was sitting next to him, absently stroking his hair—love already, and they’d only just met! Ugh.

Tony brushed his curly hair back from his forehead. Hear that, heart? he told it sharply. You’re not to go simpering with ladies, understand? Be hard! Be cold! Don’t let anyone in or it’ll hurt. Plus, I haven’t the time for such trivial things as kissing or children. 

He poked the beam and yawned. It was chilly but not too chilly, and the wind was light but blowing in the perfect direction. They were passing the Dark Shoals, home of Stygian, and the hoisted sails were black so as to blend in. Tony scanned the horizon again. Still nothing. The silence was almost ominous, broken only by the occasional slap of a wave against the hull.

Born in the Lower Heights to a family who wanted nothing to do with him, Tony had been abandoned as soon as he turned five. Then he’d wandered the continent until he settled in the Lows, where he’d met Marty.

It had been quite a funny meeting. Tony drifted in to a memory, keeping his eyes sharp on the horizon.

 

He was six and a half and lying behind a crumbling stone wall, sleeping with one eye open. His dreams were troubled, mostly of his family abandoning him. He had to relive the nightmare every night. 

Just then, shouts roused him from his restless slumber. He sat up under the thin gray blanket he had snagged from a laundry line, closed his eyes, and listened hard. 

Feet thumping on stone. A feeling of terrified elation. Light footsteps, heavy footsteps. What was going on?

He clambered up the wall and poked his head over the top of the wall, which swayed dangerously. A blond-haired kid who looked about his age was racing down the street, glancing back over his shoulder at two men chasing him. 

“Hey kid, give back that necklace!” the larger of the two shouted. “We paid good money for the thing!”

Tony assessed the kid briefly. A practiced young thief, must’ve just snitched a necklace from a pawn shop. Well accustomed to running and unwilling to give in. They were coming straight at him and normally he would’ve left in a hurry, but something about the kid’s eyes kept him where he stood. Gray-blue, but intensely determined they were—he looked like someone who would watch the world fall in fire before he’d give up.

A moment later, the kid jumped onto the wall beside him. There was a heart-stopping moment where the whole structure shook, and then the wall collapsed with an explosion of dust.

There went my blanket, Tony thought ruefully. Oh well.

The blond-haired kid spun around and jumped. “Oh,” he said. "I didn’t realize anyone was here. Sorry to bother you, but could you tell them I went left?” Without waiting for an answer, he barreled off to the right.

The men came to a halt beside Tony, breathing heavily. “You there, boy,” one of them said, “you didn’t happen to see a blond-haired kid come through here, did you?”

“Me?” said Tony innocently. “Whyever would you think that?”

“You were right here,” said the other one skeptically.

“Oh, yes, I suppose I might’ve seen one run by,” said Tony slowly, “but if you’ve seen one blond kid you’ve seen them all, if you know what I mean?”

“We don’t care, just tell us where he went!” yelled the first.

“Oh,” said Tony. “Should I have been paying attention to that? Y’know, if you’ve seen a blond kid run left, you’ve seen him run right, if you get what I mean?”

“No we don’t and we don’t care; just tell us which way he went!” screeched the second one.

“Hm,” said Tony. “Well I think it was left, but on the other hand it could’ve been right, and I surely don’t want to accidently misinform you nice fellows.” He gave a charming smile. “You see, he could’ve gone south, but if I don’t have my directions right it could’ve also been north, you see? But then suppose it wasn’t either of those, and rather west? But if it wasn’t west it might’ve been east, but north is equally likely. However, south is also probable, but if you take into account the direction of the wind it could’ve been in a westerly direction, yet according to the tilt of the street I could also say he went east. Now thinking of the clouds and wind today, I would—”

“STOP IT!” both men yelled in unison. “WHICH WAY DID HE GO?!!”

“Oh, yes, that was the original question, was it not?” Tony murmured. “But who is it you’re looking for again?”

"A. Blond. Kid.” hissed the first man. “He stole our necklace.”

"A necklace, hmm?” Tony said. The blond boy must be miles away by now, but just to be safe… “What did it look like?”

“An emerald-encrusted silver chain,” snarled the second man.

“Emerald encrusted! My, that must be valuable,” said Tony sympathetically. "I’m sorry you lost it. On second thought,” he said suddenly, "I believe he went left.”

“Finally!” growled the first, and he ran off without a word of thanks. The second one paused, nodded briefly to Tony, then charged after the first.

Tony turned, satisfied, and was surprised to find the blond kid staring at him from a nearby rock pile. The emerald necklace dangled from one of his hands. He looked impressed. 

"I’ve never seen anybody distract Bill and Bambi so easily,” he commented. “And the way you handled it, frustrating them to the point they want to kill you, yet holding valuable information over their heads so that they can’t?” He nodded briskly. “You’ve got true skill there, whoever-you-are.”

Tony blinked at him, shocked into silence. He tried to speak, but all that came out was, “BILL AND BAMBI?!”

“Thieves’ Den nickname for ‘em,” the kid explained. "I’m Marty, by the way.”

"I’m Tony.”

And just like that, they were friends.

 

Tony sighed and looked down at Marty again. They’d helped eachother out of plenty of scrapes, but that was the most memorable of all escapades. 

With a jolt, he realized he was neglecting his job. He whirled around, scanning the still sea wildly, and found to his shock that flaming flares were exploding silently in the darkness. 

“ALERT!” he screamed. “FireFlares off six o’clock!”

 

ab

 

Marren glanced up at the noisy lookout, thinking he sounded like some kind of squabbling sparrow. The flares had been flashing for nearly ten minutes, and everyone was already up on deck, quietly preparing the boarding hooks. What had Prickett been thinking—no, he hadn’t thought at all, obviously! “Get down from there,” she called sharply to him.

“With pleasure!” He sounded proud. Did he think she was going to praise him? Praise him, a low-born twelve-year-old? Never in the world!

She turned back to the sinking ship. It was taking a great risk here, flashing those flares at midnight while sinking. If anyone but them had noticed the flares, they’d all have been taken prisoner—or worse—by Stygian…so close to the Dark Shoals; why were they sailing over here anyways?

Marren turned to the boy sleeping beside her, his blond hair pale in the moonlight. “Wake, Marty,” she commanded, touching his arm lightly. “It is time.”

“What, what, what?!” he demanded, leaping to his feet. “What’s happenin’? Attacked by pirates? Giant storm coming? Lemme at ‘em!” He tried to throw himself off the side of the boat, and Marren just managed to catch him.

She hauled him close to herself, put her mouth to his ear, and screamed, “WAKE UP!!!”

“Ugh! Ack! No need to be so noisy,” he grumped, opening his gray-blue eyes. “What IS it, by all the rainbows?”

Marren snorted. “‘By all the rainbows’?” she inquired.

“Phrase in the Lows.” Marty brushed his hair out of his eyes. “What is it?”

“Your first job is what it is,” Marren answered. “There’s a sinking ship just ahead; see its flares?”

Marty nodded somberly. Plumes of fire were bursting off the bow, flashing across the water. 

It looks like a warship, Marren thought with a little shudder. Warships, she knew, weren’t allowed in Boundary—but with the red lights, it sure looked like one.

“What do I have to do?” Marty asked. Marren admired his quiet determination and strength.

“Ok, Marty. I need you to swing grappling hooks across the water to the other ship, understand? And when they’re firmly attached, leg it across and tell them we come in peace.”

“Why can’t you hoist the white flag?” asked Marty, struggling to untangle the mess of grappling lines with his frozen fingers.

Marren’s face grew grave. Slowly, she raised her finger and pointed across water the color of obsidian, to a ship moored no more than fifty yards away from them. And when she spoke her voice was as forbidding as the dark clouds gathering on the horizon; as ominous as the ebonized silhouette of the ship which she pointed to. And the name which she spoke was one that Marty later hoped never to hear again.

“Stygian.”

 

ab

 

Marty swung across the grappling lines and landed on the deck. He found the crew and passengers huddled together on the quarter deck, looking resigned to their fate. Marty rolled his eyes. They seemed rather scared of him.

“YOU GUYS, I’m not going to hurt you!” He exclaimed. “I’m only 13! We’re here to help you.”

The people looked relieved. After a small amount of talk, Marty managed to gather that they knew of Marren V. Steeple and her ship-saving crew.

"I’m sorry,” said Marty, “but I think I have to tie up your hands. It won’t look convincing otherwise.”

“But who is here to see?” one woman asked.

“Stygian,” said Marty. “Stygian; the greatest and most terrible pirate ever to sail the Great Bay—he’s anchored on a sandbank not 50 yards from here.”

“50 yards!” the captain breathed. “Good lord, we’ll all be dead in ten minutes!”

Marty suppressed a groan. These people were much too jumpy. “Not if you listen to me!” he snapped. “Now LET ME TIE YOU UP IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIVES!” Exasperated, he let his voice rise, never thinking of the consequences…

 

ab

 

Marty finished tying up the “prisoners”. “Have you guys got a weaponry in this place?” he demanded. “My little dagger isn’t much good here.”

“Aye.” The captain gave him directions, and Marty hurried off.

Marty climbed slowly down a pitch-black stairway, feeling the wall with one hand. He felt uneasy, He wasn’t sure it was the best idea to leave the crew and passengers tied up like sitting ducks, easy prey for Stygian. Too late now…he was going in.

Deeper and deeper he went, wondering how such a small ship could descend so far down, especially considering how shallow it was here. But he did not linger on it long, for at last the weaponry came into sight.

Spears, swords, and cracked shields lined the walls. Daggers and knives spilled from chests overflowing with weapons. Marty took five spears, a bow and arrow, and as many swords, knives, and daggers as he could fit into his little backpack. He was just starting to turn when a soft glow caught in his peripheral vision. He spun around.

A small, green-tinted glass bottle sat quietly shimmering with a soft yellow light. Marty picked it up and turned it slowly over and over. Inside was a sort of glowing sand. He poured a little onto his hand and there it sat, glowing.

Whatever it was, it might be useful. He squashed it into his already crammed pockets and dashed up the stairs.

Unfortunately, he met Stygian coming downward.

Marty had the one small advantage of surprise. Stygian jumped very slightly, enough for Marty to pull out one of the spears, jab the evil pirate out of the way with the blunt end, and run. 

Up the stairs he flew. When he reached the top, he found Stygian’s crew guarding the nicely-trussed-up prisoners.

Oh, great. Marty suppressed a scream. Trade eighty weapons for eight prisoners. If only he hadn’t gone looking for weapons! “Rapids and Rods,” he muttered. "Maybe I’m not cut out for this kind of work.”

Double darning needles! he thought a moment later; the guard had heard him!

“Whoof’s there?” 

Seems he has a cough, though Marty. He chewed his lip as the big oaf started lumbering towards him. What to do? Then he had an idea. He knelt in the window frame and fired an arrow.

Stckf! It embedded itself in the deck. The coughing guard picked it up, looked at it for a minute, and then threw it back at the shadows. But Marty had already squirmed behind a rattling metal staircase and fired another arrow.

This one found its mark in the wooden frame of a deck chair. Marty raced up the stairs, feeling horribly exposed in the moonlight, and shot off a volley of arrows which rained down upon the deck. Each one avoided human targets, but Marty hoped his message was clear: Get your fat feet out of here or my arrows won’t miss.

The guards were shifting worriedly now. One glanced up before picking up a warped arrow and flinging it back up at the roof.

Marty dove out of the way just in time. The arrow tinged against the roof. Marty scrambled down a hatch and half-fell, half leapt into an apothecary.

There he stood, breathing hard and fast. This rather unexpected location on a cruise ship brought to mind a question that had been circulating in his head, just out of reach. 

Why is there a weaponry—and an apothecary—on a cruise ship?

He couldn’t dwell on it. He needed to get a message to Marren and the others. They were all staring at Stygian’s ship, unaware that the dark pirate stood on the slowly-sinking Gray Apprentice beside them.

Marty put a hand in his pocket to touch his dagger, and there he came upon a scrap of silklike material—the sailcloth!

Yes!

Marty could’ve danced for joy. However, then he’d break all the nice herbal tinctures, not to mention bring Stygian’s crew running! Not to mention—was he turning out as reckless as his father before him?

Anyways, he could contact Marren with this bit of parchment. All he needed was a pen and a bit of thing rope, both things that could be easily found in an apothecary.

 

ab

 

On board the Trailblazer, Marren was watching Stygian’s ship, the Sunken Heart. Beyond it, a storm was building on the horizon, reflecting her mood. It pulsed with power, crackling with lightning and thunder that no-one could hear. It was beyond the Wall yet, but coming in fast, by the look of it.

And still Stygian’s ship remained as still as the sea around it…like the calm, Marren thought, before the storm.

 

ab

 

Marty saw his arrow fly through the air; saw Marren bend to pick it up. He only hoped she would understand…

 

ab

 

Thunk.

Marren spun around. A small, red-feathered arrow was embedded in the deck an inch from her boot. She picked it up and glanced back at the sinking ship. If this was an attempt to harm her, it surely fell short! Not that it would work, anyways.

 A thin scrap of sailcloth was clumsily fastened to the arrow by a brown bit of course string. Her fingers trembled slightly as she untied it. What was it? A ransom note? A threat? But it was the pale white color of peace—oh, maledictions, what did that mean? All sailcloth was white; suppose that was all the pirates had? And who said white was the color of peace anyways?

Marren turned over the pale cloth and gave a startled laugh. There was the advertisement she herself had lettered. Which meant it must be from Marty…

Some of the words and letters were circled. Pirate, apprentice, wanted, now, aboard, the, gray, h, e, l, p. 

She puzzled over it for a moment. He obviously needed help. Pirate apprentice wanted? Did that mean he was waiting for Tony? No, he hadn’t had any choice about the order of the words—so she must be meant to unmix it. It made sense if it read, “pirate wanted now.’ So apprentice must be later in the sentence. Aboard the—that must be the name of the ship. The Gray Help didn’t seem like much of a name for a ship. But wait! She had forgotten the apprentice! 

The Gray Apprentice. Better, but still a weird name for a ship. Mareen had guessed by now that he needed her to cross the grappling lines, too. She looked across the gap between the two ships.

Shadowy figures moved across the deck.

Marren gave a yelp so loud it bounced off the water and knocked Lizzie’s hat into the waves. She whirled about and beheld their lookout facing neither in the direction of the Gray Apprentice nor towards the Sunken Heart. He was facing the Wall, humming! Some lookout!

“GET DOWN FROM THERE!” she roared. Tony whipped around, yelped, and fell off the mast.

He landed lightly, barely flinching, spun around and promptly shouted, “ALERT! ALERT! ALL CREW ON DECK! STYGIAN HAS PENETRATED OUR DEFENSES!”

I think you’ve read a fewww too many adventure novels, pal. Marren sighed. We didn’t have any defenses. “We are all on deck, you dimwitted dum-dum! Now GET BACK ON YOUR JOB!”

“But—you just told me to g-get down—” Tony stammered.

"I changed my mind.” She stuck her face right up close to his. “Go!”

He scuttled away.

Marren turned. “Weapons, check. UnderArmor, check. Determination, check. Ready your swords,” she told the crew calmly, “we’re going in.”

They barely made it across before one of Stygian’s shipboys cut the grappling lines.

 

ab

 

Tony waited until they had all swung across. Then he grabbed the last line and started wriggling along it.

Halfway there, the shipboy chopped the line. Tony gave a yelp as he fell with a splash into the icy-cold waves below.

Flailing about with his shirt clinging to his skin, he started splashing towards the Gray Apprentice. The moon shone coldly, ignoring his struggles, and Tony suddenly ran across and undercurrent.

He barely had time to gasp before it sucked him around the edge of the Gray Apprentice. He knew it would be deadly to scream, with so many pirates about, but if he didn’t he would surely drown. He opened his mouth…and gasped as a rope bonked his nose.

“Quick, grab on!” said Marty, popping over the edge of the deck. 

“Oh!” Tony complied. Holding tightly to the rope, he hauled himself up the slick, barnacle-encrusted side of the boat. “Thanks,” he murmured, touching Marty’s shoulder. “Add that to the eight-three times you’ve saved my life.”

Marty shrugged. “Thank me later.” He jabbed his finger at the deck below. “Big battle going on down there. I’ve been instructed to stay out of it.” He waggled an eyebrow at Tony.

“Ooh, me too!” Tony drew his short sword. “Let’s go!”

Together, they plunged into the fray.

 

ab

 

It was turmoil! 

Marty grinned with exhilaration. This, he thought, was surely what he was born for; his life on the streets had prepared him well. He launched himself through the air and smacked into a large, tanned pirate, who twirled around and grinned.

“Hey, kid.” He snorted. “You’d better not be thinking of taking me on—I could fling you halfway ‘cross the continent!”

“That’s what you think.” Marty whirled his dagger, launched off the back of the nearest crew member, and send the man crashing into Marren, who tied him up hastily.

Marren paused in the fight long enough to duck over to Marty and whisper, “Get the prisoners!” before she whisked off again. Marty heard her calling orders across the deck.

Marty set to work, inconspicuously edging over towards the tied-up crew. Kneeling beside the nearest, a grizzled old man with a salty beard, he took out his silver dagger and cut the man’s bonds.

“Thank you, lad,” said the former prisoner in a soft, breathy voice. Suddenly he saw what was engraved into the ruby jewel embedded in the dagger’s hilt. “High, lad!” he gasped. “That be the Pied Piper’s symbol or I’m a monkey!”

“Well! You are certainly not a monkey, then,” muttered Marty, setting to work on the next prisoner. “That is indeed his symbol, and I am his son.”

The old man fainted.

“Oh, fine and good!” Marty shouted. “One more unconscious person to carry like a sack of potatoes!” He went on swiftly, freeing the others. Then he handed out knives and short swords. “Here, arm yourselves!” he whispered. “It’s be more than stupid, it’d be self-destruction to enter this battle, or even attempt to walk through it, without weapons. Now hurry!”

Off they went, in pairs. Marty led, or carried, whichever was necessary, the newly-freed people onto the Trailblazer and locked them—for their own safety—in a comfortable room belowdecks. Then he leaped back into battle; and his eyes shone as cold and bright as the blade of his dagger.

He saw Marren overcoming three burly sailors. “Don’t hurt them!” she cried. “We are not murdurers—take them prisoner if you can; do not harm them!”

Marty blazed through the mob of shouting, diving, running pirates, and for the first time in his life he truly played the part of Luke Griffin’s son. He fought well and with mercy, and in his eyes and face and heart there burned a clear, quiet fire; the fire that wins wars by a single hand. He was striking out to defend those who could not fight for themselves, and he felt completely Marty Griffin. Marty the Mighty, he thought; and laughed, to the incredulity of the pirates nearest to him.

One of Stygian’s darkest crew members suddenly loomed over Marty, pinning him to the ground with one hefty arm and raising his sword with the other. Marty gulped and squirmed, unable to get free. His vision went blurry.

Suddenly, the pressure was released and the man flew backwards with a yelp. Marty gasped and sat up.

Tony stood above him, waving his arms. “Okay, alright there. Clear out,” he shouted. “You can see I’m nothing to mess with! I never used to clean up my room.”

 Marty tried to untangle that one and failed miserably. “Thanks, Tony.”

 “No prob!” His friend winked. “Now we’re even.”

And he dashed away.

Marty jumped to his feet, rubbing his throat. He turned and charged in the opposite direction.

On and on the battle raged. Someone on the Sunken Heart started firing cannons at the Gray Apprentice, and then there were cannonballs to avoid. Marty dashed about, helping wherever he could as the battle turned first in Stygian’s favor; then in Marren’s.

Suddenly a bolt of pain shot through his head. He cried out and fell, though he didn’t feel the pain of hitting the deck. It felt like someone had cleaved his skull open.

The sounds and sights of the battle faded away into a memory.

 

Marty was six. He and Eluda were shopping at the docks, Annie trotting along behind them. Every now and then Marty would put something into the bag his mother held, and smile.

"I wonder when father will be home,” he said to Eluda.

She ruffled his hair. "I don’t know, my dear. Hopefully soon. He was on a trip to the Dark Shoals to steal some of Stygian’s treasure, you know. He may take a while.”

Marty nodded, a little somberly. "I’ve been practicing lots,” he said to her. “The other day I stole a necklace from Bill and Bambi.”

Eluda smiled fondly. “That must’ve been fun, my dear.”

“It was! They almost caught me, though…Tony helped me out.”

“Tony?” Eluda frowned.

"A boy jus’ about my age. He was amazing.”

“Well, that’s nice, dear. I hope you’ve found a friend. But remember, no matter how nice they seem, you can’t trust anybody in the Lows.”

"I know, mom.” Marty sighed. "I’m always careful.”

“Hmm,” she replied. Her attention had been grabbed by a boy racing up the boardwalk.

He looked about thirteen, holding a scroll and wearing the tell-tale colors, red and yellow, of a messenger. “Let it be known!” he called, gasping. "A great storm, greater than has been known for many years, swept into the Dark Shoals yesterday!”

Marty met his mother’s eyes. “The Dark Shoals?” he whispered.

"A ship has gone down in the storm!” the messenger went on. “It is…the good ship the Shining Tomorrow! There were no survivors.”

“The Shining Tomorrow?” Marty whispered. “But…that was father’s ship.”

He looked at his mother.

It was the only time he’s ever seen her cry.

 

Marty opened his eyes, wondering why his head ached so much. His right eye pulsed with pain, making him wince with every passing minute. Shouts came from all around him, but he couldn’t focus on them just yet…he just couldn’t.

Suddenly he became aware of a voice repeatedly calling his name. Slowly the world came into sharp definition. 

Marren stood over him, shaking him. “Marty! Wake up! Your captain is giving you an ord—oh. Thank skies! You’re awake.”

“What happened?” he managed. No more than a few moments could’ve passed; Tony was still fighting the same pirate.

“You collapsed,” Marren said sharply. "I’m not exactly sure why. Perhaps you were hit on the head; although I see now sign of it. However, no time to worry about it; up you get!”

Marty staggered groggily over to the safety of the hold. After a few moments of rest, he felt better, and stood up. Then he noticed something.

Stygian stood alone on the quarter deck. His dark eyes flashed, and Marty realized what he had to do.

He snuck up behind the captain of Sunken Heart and thrust out his arm. Like lightning his hand twisted the captain’s behind his back, and Marty promptly sat on him!

"Perhaps,” said Marty cheerfully, “you would be so kind as to duly surrender?”

“Gak! Insolent worm!” The captain squirmed wildly.

"I’m not the one wriggling,” Marty said. He raised his voice. “Hey, Marren, I got him!”

“Huh? Oh! Good job!” Marren tossed him a coil of rope. “If you’d be so kind as to tie him up, the rest of ‘em are pretty subdued.”

“Sure.” Marty obeyed, then looked down at Stygian.

"I am the son of the Pied Piper, who managed to steal most of your treasure and return it to the ones you stole it from before his death,” he said. “And now I have defeated you. I just wanted you to know.”

And so ended the Battle of the Sunken Hearts.

 

||||||||||

 

 

DONE! :D Hope everyone likes it. Also, I will fix the typos. If you see any in this one, please let me know! 

submitted by ShiningStar@Flameres, age 13 eons, The Milky Way
(February 26, 2022 - 4:18 pm)

My favourite part was when Tony distracted those two men Bill and Bambi from finding Marty-*Laughing remembering*!

At the beginning of chapter 3: "He startlingly-green eyes stared levelly at him." to "Her startlingly [no hyphen needed] green eyes" 

When Marty's in the ship: "He felt uneasy, He wasn't sure it was the best idea." Combine or separate the sentences. 

Just a suggestion: when Marty finds the sand, you use "glowing" twice there, but to incorporate more variety you could find another adjective like shining, twinkling, ect.

"All he needed was a pen and a bit of thing rope . . ." Word mixup?

In the battle: ". . . and send the man crashing into Marren," send to sent.

Marty rescuing the prisoners: "He whispered. "It's be more than stupid . . ." Change to it'd. 

The last sentence of Marty's flashback (love those flashbacks, by the way): "It was the only time he's ever seen her cry." To keep on with past tense, I would change he's to he'd, unless you want it to be present tense in just that moment.

Marren: "Thank skies! You're awake." Maybe thank the skies? I don't know.

(And my name is tediously long and made-up, so if you would like to call me Flamie, go ahead!)

 

submitted by Flamarestii
(February 28, 2022 - 2:46 pm)