Children of Terra

~9 January 1656~ ~Galleon-at-sea~ ~In private quarters~ ~Pruflas, privateer~ The seas were calm this day. Gentle swells coaxed the sides of the stolen Spanish galleon in steady rhythm. As Pruflas lay in a hammock, he dreamed of how much and how little things changed. A sway to the side along a rise. A fall downward with a pit in the stomach. Motion made the unprepared sickly -- but he was long used to it by now. What was it again?       Ah, the 'Peace of Westphalia.' That's right. A name he hadn't heard in a while, and that's why he was reminiscing. The now-forgotten Emperor Otto of Westphalia, third of his name . . . What a joke. It was rebellion back then, and then excursion wars, punitive wars, plagues, fervent wars, and on and on it went. Humans were sure good at waging war. It was inspirational in a sad and expected way. He needed to summon within himself that never-ending lust to kill, just as true as the wars themselves.       And the wars in the known world were just one thing. There were rumors even as far back as 'antiquity' of Terrae Plus Ultra. Until Christophorus Columbus and his return in 1493. Christ-bearing Dove, if we take the name as it means. He brought certainty to rumor. As it turns out, there was a whole new continent beyond the sea. And the dove, which most consider a bird of peace and tranquility, opened another chapter of bloody history.       Pruflas thought on how much war there was from the old world. Centuries of it he was party to, and eons of it from his time in Limbo. And here on the other side of the sea was war beginning to take root. There were conflicts, sure. New territories brought old ways and all. What really kicked off this new age was the capture of Jamaica by England. The provincial lords offered letters of marque -- and an open season of privateering began on Tortuga.       The Duke himself had since adapted in the centuries topside. He had been all over the continent in the Game -- a demon's locution through the ages. One of the most interesting areas were the Carpathians. That reminded him so much of Spheri Mundi he stayed for a generation. Then there were the Saracen invasions and punitive expeditions back. That whole scandal brought the Magna Carta. The fall of Byzantium was by far a paradigm shift. The far east country -- once called Serica or Sina -- now China, had developed a cultural upheaval: gunpowder.       This new method of warfare changed many things. Combined with new ships of great scale that could venture to a world entirely unknown, the world had finally reached a point of great change. Trade and exchange was profit unlike even the Pharaohs and Emperors had known in times long gone. And with such great change and cultural shifts, there was opportunity. Piracy. One ship laden from the East could create generational wealth with a stimulant bean and flavor spice. Pruflas was amazed such things were worth killing for -- but he was there for the Tulip Madness. One fucking bulb could buy a lifetime of wealth at the height of that insanity. And that was just a generation ago. Such stories filled the nights on the galleon; the privateers dreaming of a better life, regardless of the cost and means.       Humanity was at its best in times like this, Pruflas listening through the wooden panels of his room to banter in the hold. Small. Local. Simple and pure of intention. Just a crew of insane men with pistols, swords, and cannons; setting out to make a life in this world. So much more desirable than the life in Limbo, and the hatred within. His family had opted to wait him out, sending pathetic attempts of assassination in the eons by. Probably fucking each other at the ecstatic thought of him up here, pining to come crawling back for them to denigrate with humiliation torture. Fucking Asmodeus. Pruflas quickly found his mood soured at the thought.       At least the assassins provided some novel ideas. Once they started disguising themselves with a new application of magia did the Duke reverse engineer the process and then hide himself among the increasingly dense human population. Wouldn't work to aether beings, but humans were getting weaker -- by the Rings they were lame. He actually had to hide his power to avoid pogroms. Currently, he was a famed sharpshooter, using magia to guide bullets and cannonballs. He also was an ace lookout, being able to man a crow's nest better than any. Both abilities taken as just talent and skill rather than the magia it was.       He listened at the cawing of crows through the port hatch, they were always attracted to him. Not that he would brag about that, but to anyone particularly attuned to magick phenomena, this was an issue hard to suppress. After the brouhaha in Salem, to boot. Just lay low, bide time . . .An opportunity would come eventually. After all, doesn't a gentleman's revenge take 10 years? What's another 1000 if it meant total demon death?       Pruflas rested in his hammock when the knock came. One of the cabin whelps. The young voice vibrated through the door: "Cap'n's callin' for ye, Phoenix." His pet name -- designed to piss off demons that were in the know -- as names had power. Rising from the hammock, Phoenix opened the door to the young lad. Inquisitive eyes looked up at him -- the Duke kept the yellow hue but rounded the pupils out. Always a fascinating sight for the child.       "Run along, laddie. Always a deckhand needed somewhere, eh?"       "Yes, sir . . . " The boy smiled embarrassed before leaving.       Walking along the cabin way, Phoenix widened his gait and timed steps with the rocking of the ship. A distinctive march that gave away just about any long-borne sailor from the land lived. Up to the sea outside. Back to the rear of the ship to the critical quarters of any vessel: a captain's cabin. Most of the time split into multi-chambers for strategy meetings and dining with an offset chamber and quarter galley for rest. Phoenix knocked upon the door separating this from the top deck. "Captain?"       A gruff voice, heavy, called him in. Entering, the duke noted the tinge of spice burning. A small cup of fine eastern leaf simmered on a small table aside the captain's animal hide chair. Phoenix saluted. "Ease, shipman." He relaxed and glanced at the map unfurled in the center of the room.       Captain La Fontaine stood after quaffing his pipe, dragging a deep draw from the leaves -- light rising from sudden air intake. "Phoenix. I'm sure you're aware of the implications of letters of marque." From within his robes, La Fontaine tossed a handful of the stamped papers across the map. "Having them aboard the ship makes us enemies to Spain, regardless of feelings. Which is why I offered for any to leave while they could. But, it's been a half year now, and ships arrive like clockwork. If the Spanish don't kill us for outright thievery, the British will as breach of contract." Placing his hands on the table, the captain looked Phoenix in the eyes. "This is the last moment you have to choose, yellow-eye. We expect another vessel by night tide. This one we attack . . . And I would be lying if I said you wouldn't be needed."       Phoenix smiled. "I'll fight, captain. Spilling blood is nothing new to me." Upon hearing the words, La Fontaine bowed his head in a gesture of relief.       "Then ready up. I want you back on the perch." ~Whistles and shouts~ ~Away we go~ ~Unfurled sails~ ~Pruflas, masquerading as Phoenix~ The ship had readied in port and banked out into the Caribbean, hugging far from the shoals as wind carried them bearing south-east. Phoenix stood in the crow's nest, hip against twine as the vantage rocked with waves. He scanned the horizon for mast sign, a vantage of about 12 or so miles to ready for battle. But here was the hidden advantage that the secret demon had. He could see farther by quite a bit -- problem being to do so early would expose himself. Already he could perceive a standoff about 15 miles from shore, and the larger problem: it wasn't one ship. Four. And they were all warships from the decks of cannon ports. Oh boy, they really pissed of the Spanish, didn't they?       He watched as the distance grew close until whistling out below. Just past what humans could see, and would be written off as just sharp eyes. "Enemy ships! 3, no 4! 4 ships! Bearing . . . west-northwest!"       Relay calls. 'Clear down the line! Ready!'       The 4 ships began a new bearing as the spotters surely caught the top of the mast in view. Good,the man-of-wars had begun a new course. It's time to report the grimmer news. Phoenix bellowed out, updating. "Fifth or fourth rate warships, all of them! 36 cannon ports thereabouts!" Groans and murmurs were picked up by his fine hearing. Ah, morale damage from that news. Phoenix sighed as he looked down to the crew. He watched a powder monkey clambering up the rigging to him, fear in the boy's eyes.       "Cap'n wants you reposition, sir. On a cannon, quick as ye can." The boy looked in a bit of shock daze, and Phoenix reached out to pat him on the shoulder.       "Calm, lad. What is will be what is. Take my spot, I can bus my own powder, boy."       Widened eyes. "Sir! That's - "       "An order! Unless the officers or captain orders you, man the perch. Repeat it back."       "Y-yes sir." Another pat before Phoenix began his descent. A distal boom from the west. Range testing. The cannonball whistled as it landed high overhead. As the duke planted on the deck and turned, he could now see the formation of enemy ships: they were arraying in a winding line, turning to broadside them and the island behind. The captain ordered for a counter sail, opting to split the angle before the entire deck hull was in line of fire. This put Phoenix at a roughly 30 degree angle for two, maybe three shots from starboard. He began his station along with the crew, lining the shot up to a distant porthole.       The order came. 'Run out! First volley, fire!' Phoenix and his cannon crew yanked rope and opened gun port. Target galleons were probably around 2600 yards out at this point. Fuses lit. Then the thrumming roar of cannon fire vibrated the wood beneath his feet. Ears ringing as they immediately began loading for the next volley. 'Second volley, fire!' Below the top deck came the roar. The ship rolled from recoil, giving view of the flagship of the Spanish detachment beginning an aggressive turn to head off the privateers -- ports opening for broadside. 'Brace!'       Phoenix hunched. He would be safe, diverting air thaumaturgy at a point beyond the broadside to divert cannon fire. Didn't stop the splinters, though. First came the smoke on the distant galleon, then whistle as return fire bombarded the ship. Thunder of fire harmonized as wood blew apart from the enemy volley.       'Third volley, fire!' As a bombardment from the second galleon began to tear into the ship and water, return fire from below thrummed out, rocking the waves as thick gun smoke began to cloud the hull. Enough fog of war now, time to do my job.       He signaled to roll out and prepare, waiting for the order. When it did, this time the demon focused -- lobbing the ball into the third gun deck and down. Through the thunder and fire, no one could guess of the magic. To them, the first galleon simply blew out on the aft, magazine utterly lit off in a freak strike. The privateers began to cheer as the first ship took water, still firing as it began to roll sideways. Cannon fire ripped the air overhead as echoes of impact responded from behind. The three galleons behind began to turn away as the first ship unexpectedly became dead weight. A moment of reprieve -- only a moment.       Now that all three galleons were in broadside, the order came for at-will fire. Disordered shots rang out as the ships began to arc around in a counterclockwise dance -- privateer ship going clockwise. They would cross over and switch sides in about 300 yea yards. Phoenix waited for the perfect moment to fire the next ball; when the second galleon was perpendicular and the ball could travel a deck length, wiping an entire arm. He waited until the ship was just midway, aiming to take the starboard third deck. Lighting off, his ball struck the fore and a domino of muted explosions rocked the starboard gun ports, smoke blossoming from the side. A third of fire wiped in a single shot.       Another shout from the privateers as the impossible happened. They were close enough to the galleons now that musket fire began peppering the hull. Anyone unfortunate to be in port-view or top deck hunkered as splinters flew. The smoke was so thick now that Phoenix got bold. He drew his chest pistol and fired through the gun port, killing the first captain of the second galleon in a throat shot -- not that anyone could see except him. He held the pistol out for a powder monkey to load as the bedlam set.       Phoenix grabbed the ship boy on the shoulder as the pistol was handed back. "Request to the captain for me to post freely. Go!" A musket ball whizzed through the port as he pushed the lad along, shoulders rising on instinct. He aimed back through the din to kill the second captain of the second galleon. They must be fucking pissed on that ship.By the time he was done packing a third ball into the pistol the boy returned, giving clearance for the ace sharpshooter to do his work. Phoenix wished the boy well as roars rocked the ship. No time to dawdle, they were under fire.       He walked down the line to the next readied cannon, bidding the gunner back. Taking the match in hand, he made minute adjustments before lighting off. This ball ripped the rudder of the second galleon, crippling it from further combat. Signal lights and flags could be seen as the ship began to drift away from the third and fourth. The privateer galleon had arced around again, coming back to enemy portside. Phoenix walked and fired the next cannon shot, wiping out the fourth galleon with another magazine eruption. The aft blew sky high as a chain reaction took the third deck apart -- boat splitting lengthwise as it pitched forward into the sea.       The privateers were in frenzy as already two galleons were down and one was adrift. Only one left -- the third -- and not for long.       Phoenix braced as the portside cannons ripped into the privateer ship. Many of the deck guns were wiped but the ship sailed yet. He walked to the next station and fired, taking the magazine of the third ship too. All that was left through burning vessels was the second, now drifted nearly a mile away, at wind's mercy. He breathed a sign of relief. Three galleons scuttled and one ripe for a board. Fuck. His nerves were frayed. Getting up as the crew cheered, he climbed topside to reposition on the crow's nest. His job during a raid was sniping fire. Simple, effective, but no less brutal because of his pedigree. People tended to die gorily when every shot was a kill shot.       They caught up to the second galleon and peppered it with musket fire, Phoenix taking out the first mate, second mate, and officer crew before running out of muskets. He reloaded as the ships crashed into one another, hooks flying and scaffolds clamoring. Every shot thereafter shifted the tide just a little more, until after around 5 minutes of boarding it was firm in privateer control. Once calls for abandon ship were made, he stopped, collapsing back onto the perch out of mental fatigue. ~Ebb of battle~ Probably eight more years of this before he had to leave and start over. Any more and people would catch on. He couldn't stay in one position for too long as the generational suspicion would give him away as a demon, and moving about kept the assassins guessing.       As much as Pruflas wanted to go back to the Rings now, he remembered Beelzebub soundly beating him. No chance against him, let alone Lucifer. He had to gather more power and experience, factoring the demons below doing the same.       Dammit. He needed a real golden goose to win this Game. The kind of thing you can't expect for but know once you see it. Just how long would he have to play this out before that chance came? Another 500 years? More? Before he could get too lost in spiraling thought, one of the ship lads called up to him, bidding him down. He sighed.       Always another time. Once again.