Tuesday, December 16, 2014

12-16-14 Writing Warm-up
11:16 AM

12-16-14 Writing Warm-up

12-16-14 Writing Warm-up
Artwork © Kerem Beyit, All Rights Reserved - http://kerembeyit.deviantart.com/
Story and Characters © Corey Blankenship, All Rights Reserved 
Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

“Full sails! FULL SAILS!!!”

“I’m givin’ ‘er all she’s got, Cap’n! I’m a Wind-Catcher, not a Wind-Maker.”

“Don’t give me yer lip, Red-Beard! I’ve ‘ad enough of yer railin’s to last me a lifetime...and it better be a long lifetime at that.”

The dour sailor spat back. “It would be as long as the sky is large if you’d followed my advice. That Jonas clan is a whale of an albatross, if one ever did swim these sky-streams.”

“I said, SAILS, not lip!”

“Aye, Cap…”

The captain would have spitted and tossed the burly engineer overboard if he had a replacement. The mouthy savage had a way with running his yap as mightily as a ship. But he needed him today, more than any other day, to work his wonders. A Titan was hot on their tails.

By Odin’s beard he’d been right...not that I’d let that foul islander know it.

Far to the right sailed their cruel nemesis, the Jonah Clan. They were smug and swift, edging off in their skiff just as the monster awakened. How the colossus awoke, Captain Fiske would have paid all the treasures in Valhal to know. These Jonas, as the Gael liked to call them, seemed to have a knack for stirring up ancient ills. Rumors of drakes and trolls seemed all-too-closely tied to the fell-fliers. Now giants could be added to the lot.

“Ragnarok will be in tow, if these Loki’s sons have their way…” Fiske muttered into his frosty beard.

“What’s the status of our cannons, Spear-Spouter?” The ship’s master howled down into the hold.

A bent man scurried to the base of the ladder. “The powder’s low, but we should be able to get off a shot or two. Not that it would dent that beast, Sah! Fellin’ ships is one thing. Only Mimirs-draught could tell how to kill a giant!”

“By Odin’s beard, did Loki switch out my men with girls?! Stop wettin’ yer lips with mead and start packin’ the spear-spewers.”

Fiske whirled about, fur cloak snapping like an angry tail behind him. His piercing black eyes fell upon three men-at-arms standing ready for orders to board. The captain licked his bristled lips before shouting across the clamor from the oncoming terror. The giant’s bellows knocked words about like a fighter tossed scrawny runts.

“Here’s Tyrs-own! Have hands on your blood-embers, men. We will lay a red-mist about this raven-road yet.”

Fiske’s eyes gleamed with a hidden fire. He reached deep into the cauldron of his soul, as the grove-tenders had taught him. He could feel the warm fire gnaw up from the depths, writhing into his chest and up his arm. A horrible pain wracked his limb as a cruel, fanged blade blasted from his palm. Fiske anticipated this familiar, ravenous pain. He glanced lovingly at the ivory blade extending from his hand.

Fish-Bone may be Hel’s gift, but a mightier blood-worm you won’t find in all the realms men tread.

The Jonas may have their magics, but we’ll spine them yet.

The massive Titan plowed meadhall-sized fingers into the mountains about him. Slabs of rock uprooted from their ancient resting places as lightly as one would pull grass from the soil. The iron-hided titan then heaved the hill-sized shards into the air. The towering stone hurtling miles above the earth appeared to be floating mountains...floating mountains that moved ever nearer by the second. The sun disappeared as.........?????????????


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