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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 7, 2007 14:48:42 GMT -5
He saw the Black Pearl in all her majesty, her stunning hull towering far above the waves. Her commanding profile cut through the horizon, her wake broad and her sails filling the sky. Captain Barbossa noticed something was wrong with the image the moment it came into his mind. There was a fundamental flaw in the beauty of the scene: the angle meant Barbossa was not on the ship. It was moving, full speed, through the water and he was apparently not at the helm. The feeling this instilled in him was more than unsettling. All he could do was watch it sail away from him, a ghost on the water, and for a moment he imagined he knew what Jack had felt like the day Barbossa had marooned him.
Drawing a sharp breath, Barbossa forced his eyes open. Light dripped into them like acid, and he was forced to shut them tightly for a few moments until he could blink and adjust to the day. His mind was blurry, his limbs heavy and screaming with electric pain. His muscles refused to listen to him, forcing him to remain still. For a moment he did not know where he was, his dream still vivid in his mind. The Pearl. It had been there. And then… then it had not. He slowly recalled the violent rocking. The explosive sound. The inexplicable shadow.
The Black Pearl vanishing into the night.
Groaning, the Pirate Lord pushed himself into a sitting position, putting a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder to assure her that he was fine, not to keep his balance. Though, it didn’t hurt. He looked at her, his eyes searching her face for a moment before finding the brown of her own eyes. Exhaustion flew away, at least for the moment, as he looked her over, then took stock of their condition.
The boat had managed to survive marginally unscathed, the oars resting inside. They had no provisions, though, the island may yet be inhabited. Despite extreme fatigue and tight, over taxed muscles, Barbossa was not harmed. He looked Elizabeth over, making sure she was not injured.
“You’re unharmed?” He asked, his voice heavy and labored, “it didn’t touch you?”
(Short, I know. XD)
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 7, 2007 15:30:25 GMT -5
Elizabeth, though shaken, was strong of eye as they met with Barbossa's in his awakening, touched with the concern and worry that had coiled itself thick about her insides. She was relieved by his revival and looked him over as he did her, as though prepared to find a wound or a scar. The bizarre event seemed to have lef them undamaged, however, and it was almost surprising as she checked herself for a moment in the Captain's question. She saw no scratch nor blood. Nothing. Then again, she had only been granted a glimpse of their distorted foe and the events of the disaster were blurred in her disoriented state. "I'm fine. I only got a glimpse of it," she assured him, though now her eyes were back on him, checking his face in concern. "And you? Are..." she hesitated, swallowing her uncertainty as she spoke again in a stronger tone, "... Are you all right?"
She didn't feel foolish by asking though she saw no evidence of harm to his body. It was, again, that subtle, maternal instinct that lingered in nearly every female. She took the moment to eye the boat and then the beach, her guard returning as her eyes flickered about the trees behind them as though certain that some manner of beastie lurked there. Was the island empty like that which she and Jack had been marooned? Or was there civilization just beyond their view? She wasn't sure which one would lean more to their favor at the moment.
The Pirate King attempted to rise to her feet, though her legs were shaky and unbalanced at first. She managed to stand, however, and with the Dead Man's Chest still cradled in her arms like a precious babe. The wind swept swift fingers through her damp hair while she squinted against the sunlight as she looked about the shore as though expecting them to be discovered. By what? She did not know. At least, with Jack, she had known for a fact that they had been alone. But here? One could not be too sure. She glanced back to Barbossa, face exposing an expression of worry that she could not hide. She didn't need to hide it. She didn't want to hide it. This was no longer a game of masks and emotions. This was a situation that required their utmost cooperation. "It all happened so fast." the woman muttered, allowing her stare to drift to the sea as though she feared their enemy would break the serene surface. She didn't want to think about the living blackness that had claimed the Pearl. She didn't want to give it a name or a purpose. And yet, she knew she had to. "What now?" Elizabeth returned her eyes to him, strong in a determination to fix what was wronged... but lit with worry, not spirit. Often had she taken up the control of the situation and had the sense to be strong. But here, in this moment, she felt lost. She had been in such a vulnerable state when they were attacked that she had lacked the usual, fighting urge that dwelt beneath her skin. It was as though the world had punished her for being so weak. No. Pull it together, Elizabeth. The fat lady hasn't sung yet.
{ Mine's short again. Ah well. xP }
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 7, 2007 19:46:30 GMT -5
Barbossa stood slowly, forcing his body into motion. Pain and stiffness fought valiantly, but he made himself ignore it. He did not utter so much as a groan, breathing heavily through his nose as the only sign of physical distress. He fixed commanding, powerful eyes on Elizabeth, his back straightening, his shoulders back, his legs set wide in a confident display of sheer authority. Fixing his hat, which had come free when he had fallen, securely on his head, he checked himself. Sword. Gun. Powder. He gave his companion a nod, and a slight, yet dynamic, grin.
“I find myself in one piece,” he said, his voice icy calm. A slight wind blew over the shore, making Barbossa’s tide soaked shirt stick to his body in a less than comfortable way. He ignored it almost entirely, letting his eyes follow the breeze down the line of the beach. They were in a rocky cove, surrounded by high cliffs. Atop those cliffs, some feet up, was a thickly wooded swamp land, the moss of the wet environment running down the cliffs, through the rocky outcroppings. That was how Barbossa knew what awaited them at the end of a rather intense climb. If they could find fresh water or food, or even some kind of populace up there he had no idea.
But they would have to try it, considering they were essentially sitting in a natural cage.
“Now, Mrs. Turner, we secure ourselves a means of survival,” he did not mention the Pearl, or any plans he might have on that ordeal. He hoisted the boat further inland, hiding it near a pile of old, rotting ship remains. Tossing some algy and sand over it, he hid it. A pirate was wise never to lose two boats in one day. Rolling his shoulders, struggling to keep from letting the strain get the better of his composure, he looked back at Elizabeth. He knew he had to play his part flawlessly. Not to protect her, because she was a women and there fore weaker (though, he would be lying if he said that had not entered his thought process) but because of the look in her eye. He had seen her emotional vulnerability on the deck of the ship. The last thing she had needed was a traumatic incident like this to worry about. If he shouldered most of the weight of the ordeal, she could focus on her duty to the Chest.
“I’m going to take a stroll down these cliff bases. See the easiest way up. We’ll be needin’ to climb these rocks,” he said, walking up to her. He put a heavy, comforting hand on her shoulder, tilting his head at her so that his hat was out of his eyes, “sit down before you fall down. Let some blood return to those dainty legs o’ yours. I’ll be in ear shot.” He moved way from her, his hand tightening on her shoulder in fleeting reassurance as he went.
He took his time strolling down the sandbar, looking up and down the cliffs. There was no obvious path, though, a rock slide had created a favorable, less sheer path for them to use. It was the easiest, though, that in no means made it an easy climb. They would probably be on the face of the cliff for two or three hours at least, if they climbed carefully, and the sun was already being to climb high and bear down on them. They needed to get started, before the sun moved too far up and killed the shade its climbing path cast from the rock face.
Returning to Elizabeth, he informed her of his findings and their need for haste. After looking her up and down once, he fixed her a very steady, severe expression that demanded nothing less than absolute honesty, “Are you up for this kind of climb? Do you want me to take the Chest for you?”
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 7, 2007 22:41:56 GMT -5
Elizabeth admired the way Barbossa was able to calmly take control of the situation, even managing a slight grin on his face. It reminded her that she too should be able to calmly acknowledge their scenario, even in whatever emotional state she had claimed earlier. It was time get to business, not mope about like a child. She nodded before he turned to hide their strong little boat, eyes then gliding to their surroundings as she hugged the Dead Man's Chest closer to still her troubled heart. She could so easily adopt the poise of any pirate Captain by straightening her back and holding her head high. Many had seen her become such a commanding figure before plunging into the battle of the maelstrom; her poise, voice, and demeanor being that of the Pirate King she truly was. But now, rattled by events and raw emotion, she was a pathetic sight to behold. But not for long.
She managed to calm a bit when Barbossa placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, nodding again in comprehension just before he moved off to inspect their rustic setting. The bold, brazen Elizabeth Turner would've liked to go with him - to see for herself their environment and offer her own opinion in the matter. But she couldn't even bring herself to offer her company in this matter, and simply did as she was advised. She seated herself upon a rock as the Captain wandered the shore, placing the chest beside her while her hands rested upon her knees. She needed to wake up. She needed to release her overwhelmed worries and concentrate on the present. Moments before, she had been vulnerable in their thoughtful conversation... but moments before, they were also aboard a ship that was whole and sound. The new situation called for a new attitude and the young Pirate King was not going to allow her emotions to get the better of her.
When Barbossa returned, she had the chest in her lap and was examining its intricate designs, a task that was oddly soothing. The heartbeat was calm and comforting and the sensation of familar metal against the soft flesh of her hand kept her mind on track. She glanced up and welcomed his presence by standing, this time being much more steady and sure. As he described their task at hand, she eyed the cliffs with a thoughtful eye, the simple encouragement of determination returning to her. She fixed her gaze back upon him when he asked of her conditions concerning the job, brown eyes regaining strength and boldness as they were alive with a small flicker of the flame she had lost. Could she make the climb? "Yes, I think so." But what of the chest? Yes, he had mentioned that as well.
At first, her stubborn nature spoke for her. "It's fine. I'll man-" But she thought it over for a moment, simply holding the box and eyeing it as though sizing it up. His expression wanted an honest answer and such persistance to be perfectly able to take care of herself was not what he, or she wanted to hear. Could she honestly make the climb while juggling the chest? Elizabeth was silent for a moment, but admitting her determination's defeat with a soft sigh. Her eyes were upon his again and she hesitantly offered the box towards him with surprisingly steady hands. "Could you?" Even Mrs. Turner knew when stubborness was foolishness. And with the Dead Man's Chest being at risk, she couldn't afford any chances. She trusted Barbossa would be able to handle it.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 8, 2007 20:17:11 GMT -5
Barbossa accepted the Dead Man’s Chest with a nod. It was a solemn promise to do it no harm, and take care of it as if it contained his own heart. As he took it from her he made a point in sliding his rough, worn hands over the soft skin of hers. It was the only way he knew she would truly comprehend the sincerity in his unspoken promise, and as he held the chest close he let his eyes linger on hers for one simple, reassuring moment. He was glad she had realized the climb would be more difficult with the chest in tow, and had not put herself in danger by refusing his offer.
Sighing, he led her to the land slide area, all but ordering her to go before him. It wasn’t that he thought he might catch her if she slipped off, but rather that he could keep a better eye on her progress if he did not have to keep looking down. He would have enough to manage, climbing and holding his new load. Letting her climb a few feet before tackling the cliff himself, he forced his taxed muscles to ignore their exhaustion and haul him up the face of the rocky out cropping. It was laborious and agonizing, slow as he inexorably drew closer to the top. He did as he had promised himself, keeping a close eye on the Pirate King as they worked their way up.
To his surprise, a rather large and smooth rock formation in the cliff face provided them with a good resting spot. It was wide enough for them to both sit comfortably, and, if they wanted, for one of them to even lie down, if they did not mind the closeness that position would force them into. For Barbossa, it was enough of a rest to remain sitting upright. He tried not to show it, but he was beyond fatigued. His muscles were screaming from the build up of lactic acid and stress, his mind almost blurry from the expansive, throbbing pain that flooded his entire body. Rowing through the early morning, conquering stormy waters, had been more than a difficult task. Attempting an arduous climb like this was simply ludicrous. He was liable to fall, yet somehow he continued on, juggling rock hand holds between hauling the Dead Man’s Chest up with him.
Leaning his head against the rocky wall behind him, he drew a number of deep breaths, releasing each one with a sigh. His heart slowed, his body growing slightly numb, which he might have thought worse than the pain if he were able to focus on any one particular thought. Unfortunately, his head was confused and restless, desperate for a break yet pulsing with unexplored emotion and realization. It wanted to think about the Pearl, about the attacker, or even about their immediate future. All Barbossa wanted to think about, however, was the incredible luxury resting his tired body was. Sitting had never been so brilliant before, and he reveled in it.
Tilting his head to his companion, ignoring his inner monologue, he arched an eyebrow at her, noting that she still wore his coat. They had been on the rock face, climbing, for near two hours, and they were two thirds of the way up. There wasn’t much more now, but the home stretch would be the most difficult. It grew slicker the higher they climbed, with hand and foot holds becoming more and more scarce. They would have to dip into the well of ingenuity that was natural in any pirate if they wanted to reach the very top.
“How are the arms feelin’?” he asked casually, his voice deceptively rested and smooth. His tone dripped confidence and he was smiling, concerned but not overtly so, “tirin’ work, eh?”
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 9, 2007 12:57:37 GMT -5
To trust the Chest in another's hands was maddening, for this was the treasure she had to protect with all her life. And yet, as Barbossa slid his hands over her own and locked that piercing gaze into her eyes, she knew she had little to fear. Though the Captain was a trickly, clever creature, he was also a man of his word though twisted it could be. There had been no words between them through the exchange, but Elizabeth knew just through that stare. So as she stared upon the rock face that he led her to, she tried not to think of the Dead Man's Chest that she felt oddly empty without. Furrowing her brows just so in determination, the young woman began the climb. At first, her legs were a bit shakey, quivering slightly as she climbed. There were even a few moments when she hesitated or slipped just slightly, enough to make her heart beat wild and her jaw to the clench. But as they traveled further and further throught he rocks, she began to feel more comfortable, though her muscles stung slightly with the labor. Though she hadn't spent hours rowing as Barbossa had, her feminine structure wasn't as well adapted to such a task. The strength, for a woman, had never been in the shoulders as it was for a man. But still, she ignored the burn of the job and even glanced back towards her companion, though it was daunting to see how high they were. Ah, but this was the Pirate King. She wouldn't let such fears tear her apart.
When they reached a crag suitable for resting, Elizabeth was surprised by her own body's need to keep going. She felt the pulse of adrenaline in her blood and the tingle of muscles surprised by this pause. She was grateful for this rest, however, using to gather her thoughts for a moment as she glanced to the Captain beside her. Though he was a man quite capable of controlling his emotions and reactions, she could see that the exhaustion was close to tearing him apart. Though his voice was calm and casual, she could see the tire in his eyes. She replied with a breathless chuckle and her own, slight smile as she leaned back against the rocks. "It is," she replied, though glanced up at the cliff that remained for them to scale, "but we're nearly there, aren't we?" Her voice sounded determined and strong despite its own tired softness while her eyes returned to his. She placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it slightly, as though in comfort or reassurance though his countance didn't seem to need it. "We've both faced worse before." Although fighting fish people and undead pirates was a rather different sort of exhaustion than strenuously climbing a cliff, she felt the same, energized thrill despite whatever exhaustion tugged at her arms and lungs. She chuckled again and then prepared herself for the task once again, ignoring her body's desire for a good, long rest. She definitely didn't want to get stuck on this small formation where their exhaustion could keep them there until it saw fit to release them. She tried to forget that her body yearned for rest. She even forgot that she was still wearing Barbossa's coat. It's warm, reassuring weight had felt natural since their arrival on this island and she hadn't even given it a thought of consideration as her worries wandered elsewhere. The Pirate King released her hand from his arm and moved to scale the rocks again, releasing a sigh that contained many of her worries and doubts. "Shall we, Captain?"
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 9, 2007 14:33:35 GMT -5
Barbossa shifted his eyes towards the remaining distance above them. The sun was moving towards its highest point, but they had been making good time and he was confident they would be over the top by the time the day reached its hottest. Unable to keep from uttering a groan, the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea stood, Dead Man’s Chest tucked under his arm. Nodding, he prepared to begin the climb once more, finding foot holes and a hand hold and hoisting himself up slowly. Looking down at her, he indicated to the wall.
“It will be a bit more difficult to find footings from here on. The wall grows slick up the top. Best follow my lead,” That said, he carefully offered the Dead Man’s Chest down to her. He knew she had trusted him with it, and the most difficult part of the climb was coming, but he would not be able to muscle his way up a rock face, create grooves in the face for her to follow with, and carry the chest. He was patient about it, his one handed grip on the chest secure and unwavering, “I’m going to make us a path. If ye don’t want to risk climbin’ with that thing under your arm, wait and I’ll come back down for it.”
Pulling a thick, sturdy knife from his belt, he climbed up a small way more until the rocky outcroppings gave way to smooth, compact dirt and gravel. The closer they got to the marshy lands above, the softer the ground would become. Using the knife as a chisel, Barbossa worked carefully to carve holes into the cliff side, keeping himself close to the face with one arm and his legs firmly planted. It was slow work, but the path he created would be useful for the Pirate King beneath him, as well as a return trip, should they need to return to their small boat.
After what felt like a full day of work, Barbossa hauled himself up over the lip of the cliff, rolling his body onto solid, flat ground. He took a moment to catch his breath, reveling in the privacy his position afforded him. Face twisted in pain, he remained flat on his back while taking deep, gulping breaths of air. His shoulders were ablaze, his fingers raw from the climb. Settling himself, he rolled over and moved back to the edge, peering down at his companion. He had made a promise to return to her if she needed it. Now he waved at her, a motion that articulated the question in his mind. Did she need him to come down there?
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 9, 2007 15:34:24 GMT -5
Elizabeth reclaimed the Dead Man's Chest with gentle hands, soothed again by its mere presence returned to her. She pondered her scenario for a moment, eyes upon Barbossa as he climbed ahead. She had a choice. She could wait and have him return to her to carry the Chest, or she could go on after him with it tucked beneath her arm. Though the rocks ahead were intimidating and the task to be more difficult, the Pirate King knew what it was she was going to do the moment he had passed her the Chest. Oh Lord, she'd be risking it... but she knew that. She knew it and yet, she still took to climbing up after him. There was new fire in her eyes as she did so, burning with a desparate determination that hurt just as much as the stinging that tingled uncomfortably about her ribcage and arms. It was a difficult task, to be sure, and one that required utmost focus. But as she clutched the groves with strong fingers, she knew it was just a little bit more before she and the Chest were out of harm's way.
There was a moment, however, where she slipped. She had attempted to shift the Dead Man's Chest a bit to keep steady in her position, but it was enough to let the Chest slip from beneath her arm. Panic had filled her with the subtle change in weight and she had flung her arm down to snag the Chest's handle. Sweaty fingers were shaken with adrenaline as they curled tight about the handle, while her other fingers still clutching a hole had slid dangerously close to letting go in her urgency. Her teeth clenched and her eyes were wide like that of a fearful animal. But her eyebrows were furrowed and her mouth was twisted into a scowl. She growled a moan of frustration as she then proceeded up the rock face, manuevering the Chest back into the saftey beneath her arm. She spotted Barbossa's gesture and replied with a bold and breathless laugh. Her hands were quite occupied, after all.
Nearly at the edge, her muscles were on fire and her mind was clouded. There had been another small number of times where she had been forced to hesitate in worry that the Chest was going to fall. A combination of determination and primal persistance had saved the box on these ocasions, but now she felt that if it slipped, she'd be unable to grab it. Luckily, there were only a few more feet to scale. Growling again, the Pirate King summoned the last of her energy as she struggled upwards. Tendrils of hair clung to her sweaty face while she could hear nothing but her own pulse in her ears. Just beneath the edge, she was so close that she could nearly smell the different, damp soil of the marsh. But she was tired and disoriented. The Chest had proved a difficult load to bare and she wasn't quite sure as to how, exactly, she had accomplished climbing this far. She managed to push the box forward over the edge while she, a trembling creature, clung to the rocks. She pushed herself forward, digging her nails into whatever she could grasp on the cliff's jagged lip. She had forgotten that it still took energy to haul one's self over the edge and now felt a fool for pushing herself so hard before. With head aflame and throbbing and eyes closed, she pulled herself up and over. Lying in exhaustion after a few moments of gathering her lost breath, she glanced towards the Pirate Lord with a weak smile at her dry lips. "Tiring work indeed." And then she closed her eyes.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 9, 2007 16:04:02 GMT -5
(-random-)
Barbossa sat beside Elizabeth for a long moment, legs bent at the knees, one arm resting over them while the other kept him balanced. He watched her, impressed by her effort and determination. Her motivation burned something within him and, seeing her so exhausted on the floor, forced him to his feet. He took the moment of rest to look around. The ground beneath them was soft and mossy, and a ring of strangled, vine laden trees lay just beyond the edge of the cliff. It looked deep and expansive, a place designed by some unseen hand for the specific purpose of getting lost in. Rolling his shoulders, flinching at the strain, he focused on the wooded swampland ahead, unable to pierce the thick darkness that seemed to loom around the trees, despite the high sun. The heat was building, simmering off bare rocks, causing sweat to fall freely from his forehead.
If they were to find shelter from the sun, it would have to be in the swamp. Barbossa hesitated, however, to voice this decision, staring at the ominous trees with a morbid sensation of foreboding crawling through his skin, just beneath the surface. As if drawn to it, a moth to fire, he took a step towards the forest, head tilted, expression severe as his thoughts raced. He had not seen anything, but he knew there was something there. There was no indication that this island was populated by anything more than the two Pirate Lords, but for the weight that was forming in the pit of Barbossa’s stomach. And he knew to listen to his instincts without question. Something was not right. For ten years, the only company Barbossa could keep was with evil. He knew what it felt like. It seemed to thicken in the air as he got closer to the tree line, and his steps came with more force of will, his body resisting.
In an instant he was flying back, leaping defensively, sword in hand. His arm was bleeding freely, from an attack he had barely been able to see. He yelled sharply, commanding, for Elizabeth, “on your feet, Captain! We are not alone!” Even as he said it he felt the evil presence recede, the further he drew from the forest. Nothing came after him. Nothing stirred. He could not see any trace of his attacker, the only marks on the floor being his own footsteps and drops of his blood. Snarling, feeling as if he were the subject of some game, Barbossa stared unseeingly at the forest.
He did not like being played with.
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 9, 2007 23:12:40 GMT -5
After a long moment, Elizabeth's breathing seemed to be returning to normal. As was her pulse and her thoughts. The haze was ebbing away from her mind and her lungs no longer felt as though a pair of giant hands was squeezing them. She opened her eyes as her body calmed its systems, turning her gaze upon Barbossa as he surveyed their new environment. She urged her body to a seated position, hands propping her up from behind. Her own stare took its time to graze about the new area, noting the bog before them and the unsettling air that clung to its mossy trees. She tilted her head slightly in thoughts of her observation and ocasionally eyed the Captain as he roamed closer to the trees. Although the woodland radiated an ominous demeanor, Elizabeth thought little of it. After dealing with a living shadow and then having to climb a cliff, the Pirate King had almost grown accustomed to odd, eerie sensations. But she could feel the hair on the back of her neck prickle slightly while she straightened her back just so to allow herself a better view of where Barbossa was meandering.
It happened in an instant. The young woman's eyes widened and the breath stopped in her lungs. Captain Barbossa was suddenly with a bleeding arm and with his sword from its sheath. She didn't need that much of a prompt to urge her to her feet and she did so with sore but able legs. Her own hand went to the cutlass she had snagged just before the Pearl had been consumed, for even though Elizabeth had been focused upon the Dead Man's Chest, instinct and common sense and reminded her of the sword she had kept with her effects. A pirate without a weapon was a dead pirate. Once on her feet, her blade was brandished from her baldric, the steel catching the smoldering sunbeams. Her eyes shifted quickly to the Chest, safe and sure on its own. She dipped smoothly for a moment to scoop it the crook of her unarmed arm where she clutched it close with her sword still held in preparation for defense.
"What is it? How's your arm?" she said urgently, having noticed the blood that stained him. Whatever their new opponant was, it had been able to strike Hector Barbossa and strike hard. She grew tense and wary, staring shiftily about the trees and the darkness that slithered around them. Would this day never end? Did they somehow attract supernatural evils? And once, she had thought she'd live a grand, normal life. Once. As cautious as she was, she was also intrigued. Perhaps if she edged closer she'd be able to see their attacker... just a bit closer. She approached the trees with uncertain steps bracing her body for anything should their foe appear. There was nothing at first; nothing but the simple darkness of the forest ahead and the foreboding presence of the swamp's tall trees. But, of course, she was given sure evidence that something lurked beyond the simple appearance of the marsh.
It was her turn to jump backwards, gasping as the hand with its arm around the Chest swiftly rose to her left cheekbone. A hiss of pain slipped from the Pirate King's lips as she dashed to Barbossa's side once more, unsurprised with the trickle of blood that dripped from the thin, crimson line decorating her cheek. Elizabeth glanced to the Captain for but a moment, her eyes wide. She returned her stare to the bog, however, and then addressed it in a voice that was neither loud nor soft. "Who are you? Come out!" Sure, Elizabeth. The thing that's attacking you is definitely going to come prancing out of the shadows just because you tell it to. She knew she wasn't being rational with the unrational, but with her numbed senses and tiring patience, she wanted not to waste time being taunted. And though it all, she could still feel the beating of her husband's heart through the Dead Man's Chest.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 10, 2007 0:10:32 GMT -5
He gripped his sword now in his injured arm, using the other to grasp the wound. It was bleeding profusely, deep crimson running down the length of his thin, white silken shirt. He glanced down at it, wincing as he withdrew his fingers. It was deep and cruel, and he could see that serrations in his flesh that told him the blade was a nasty one, probably decide to tear muscle from bone. If it was a blade at all. He did not have the time or focus to examine it closely, but something about the way the slice opened indicated that it was not metal that had drawn his blood.
Barbossa began to answer the Pirate King’s question, only to spy her edging closer to the forest. His angry, worried cry for her to halt was cut off by her own gasp, and he felt his heart, a strange sensation, leap into his throat. It had been a long time, years upon years, since he last felt honest worry for someone’s, other than his own, safety. It enraged him, and at the same time it humbled him. He was half way towards her when she returned to his side, her cheek bleeding. He snarled, at her for doing something so dangerous, at himself for allowing a small injury to distract him, and at the unseen assailant.
“Whatever it is, it won’t answer you,” Barbossa said, sheathing his sword with some difficulty. He lifted the hand on his injured arm, the other dripping with his blood, and gently lifted her chin so he could examine her cheek. Using his wound as a basis for comparison, she was lucky the top half of her head was still connected to her body. Realizing he was a bit close to her, he moved his hand away and took a step back, nodding towards the swamp without any real indication that he had been slightly uncomfortable in that fleeting moment, “it’s protected. I don’t know what it be, but we won’t be gettin’ by it ‘less it wants us to.”
Barbossa looked around, for a path to follow, or for some way into the bog that did not involve them losing a limb or two.
(Don’t worry, they’ll be able to get in… I just… don’t know how yet. Haha. Just thought I’d make it a bit… sinister.)
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 10, 2007 18:16:23 GMT -5
It was odd, to have Barbossa concerned for her well being. Sure enough, the young woman had noticed the slight care he had taken in lifting her chin and checking her small wound, something she had not expected of him. Elizabeth couldn't help but feel a bit foolish, however. After all, she had roamed close to the forest even when she had seen what harm it had done to the Pirate Lord. His wound was far worse than her own, for her eyes gazed upon it in concern as he stepped back to eye the bog. If she had only but taken a few steps closer to the trees than perhaps a good portion of her head would be missing. Her slender fingers gingerly brushed bleeding, scarlet line on her cheek, wincing slightly as it stung against her touch. Lucky though she was, it still hurt like hell.
The Pirate King sheathed her own sword but kept the Dead Man's Chest tucked under one arm, should she need her blade once more. Her dark gaze skimmed the treeline in new distaste while uncertainty coiled around her gut. The could feel the heat of the rising sun against the back of her neck while stray tendrils of hair stuck to her face, damp with sweat. "There must be someway in. There's always someway..." she muttered, glaring at the marsh as though it would intimidate the bog into allowing them passage. Who ever heard of a protected swamp - of a place that didn't let you in unless it wanted you in? Although Elizabeth was well aware of the supernatural in this world, she still found herself questioning such nonsense, especially now in her state of tire and anxiousness.
Disgruntled with the heat and their predicament, Mrs. Turner grabbed a small rock from the ground and tossed it bitterly towards the trees, not caring should she be irritating whatever it was that had wounded her and Barbossa. "Bloody bog," she growled under her breath, as though there was a possibility of the swamp overhearing her insult. She simply stared at the forest for a moment, her frustration fading and her eyes dropping to the ground. She was letting her temper and impatience get the better of her. This was a time to be calm and cooperative, not for throwing rocks and pouting like a school girl. So, gathering her thoughts, Elizabeth glanced up again, this time into Barbossa's own eyes. "The sun's rising and we need to find shade soon. Frankly, I don't see how we're going to get anywhere near those trees without getting ourselves killed. But..." she sighed and looked back towards the swamp before them, her voice suddenly a good deal softer, "there has to be way, hasn't there?"
{ Bah. Sorry about this one. It's junk. x.x }
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 10, 2007 18:34:41 GMT -5
Sighing heavily, almost casually, Barbossa took a seat on a nearby boulder, moving his hand from his arm to take a good, close look at his wound. It was annoyingly painful, bone exposed beneath the flayed muscle and skin. His blood was still dripping freely, and he knew he had to staunch it before it became a real nuiscance. Grunting, he tore from his belt a strip of yellow fabric, staining the relatively clean fabric with his reddened fingers. It was awkward, his injured arm his dominate hand, and he was quickly irritated by the effort simply wrapping his arm required. Eventually he gave up on the hassle, simply holding the cloth to the wound.
He looked up to see Elizabeth throw a rock towards the forest. Nothing stirred as it bounced into the shadows of the trees. Barbossa was not surprised. Nature welcomed natural things. He arched an eyebrow thoughtfully, wondering what it would take to convince the protective curse, or whatever it may be, to accept them as readily as it accepted the rock. They were, without question, a threat. But what made them so? Lost to his thoughts, he barely registered Elizabeth’s voice as she enquired about the very thing he was considering.
Despite not knowing exactly what she was talking about, he decided to respond with the thoughts that were beginning to bog his mind down. He needed to voice them, to sort them out and perhaps find something clever in them, and since his usual company, his monkey Jack, was missing, Elizabeth would have to do. He looked at her, thinking as he stared into her intelligent brown eyes that she might be a better choice than the monkey, anyway.
“Did you note the way,” he said, his eyes flicking back to the forest. It drew his attention almost completely, so much so that he forgot about the wound he was trying to keep tightly covered, “your rock made no difference to it? Something about us makes us a threat. What we need to figure out is what makes us different from that rock.” He grinned. It was easier said than done.
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 10, 2007 22:47:20 GMT -5
Elizabeth tilted her head slightly as Barbossa vocally observed his thoughts, brow furrowing in her own contemplation. what did make them different from the rock? Ah, well there were plenty of differences. They were alive, for one thing. The rock certainly was not. But there had to be more to it, right? She certainly hoped so. There was something more to them that made them a threat to the sinister swamp. Was it something physical? Mental? Spiritual? The Pirate King's head throbbed with the possibilities. But she was a quick and able mind. Unfortunately, the exhaustion from spilling emotions, being attacked, abandoning ship, and climbing a cliff suffocated most of her thoughts and sparked frustration easily within her head. What was the special, significant link that made them so different from the bloody rock? Really, it shouldn't be so difficult a thought process.
"It's nature," she observed quietly, eyes fixed upon the stone sitting innocently within the shade of the trees. "We're not nature. We're man. But then we are part of nature and yet we're certainly not. Hm." Sure, she sounded completely saneless with her whispers, but she wasn't trying to contain her thoughts. She wanted them floating out in the open, where either she or Barbossa could revisit them. She placed the Dead Man's Chest upon a rock while she remained standing, arms crossed along her chest as her mind swam with considerations. "Have we got to become more natural? More simple? I mean, we've our swords and our clothes and all that..." she stopped speaking, smirking in amusement of her own idea. Foolishness. Stupidity. A bunch of nonsense. "Oh what am I talking about? That's ridiculous," she mused with a groan, running frustrated fingers through her dishevled hair. Seriously. Perhaps leaving their weapons behind was getting somewhere but their clothes? Now that had been enough to make the young woman laugh, even if it had been a nervous, shaken chuckle.
Enough with this mindless pondering. Her muttering about was getting them nowhere and she could feel it. What happened to the intelligence? To her uncanny ability to think just outside the box? Perhaps it was still at the bottom of the cliff. Quite disgruntled, Elizabeth sat upon the ground, knees close to her chest with arms wrapped around them and chin propped atop them. "It's a rock. It's not alive. Well, we certainly are alive but if that's what got the rock safely across then I'm not so sure I want to get across." And with that, Mrs. Turner fell silent with further thought and vexation. Such ramblings had been muttered more to herself than to Barbossa and with a swift, disoriented tongue. Perhaps the heat was getting to her. Aye, that was it. Either that or dear Mrs. Elizabeth Turner wasn't as clever as most thought her to be. Poor thing.
{ Most useless post ever. Sorry, Wicked. x.x }
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 10, 2007 23:09:38 GMT -5
Barbossa drew a deep breath, listening to her ramble, her vocalizations echoing his thoughts. He nodded, ignoring the insults at her ideas that she threw in out of aggravation completely. Standing, he looked down at himself, then up at the forest. He liked where her thoughts were leading her, or at least, at the beginning of her thoughts. While he wasn’t one to willingly be naked in any situation that did not involve alcohol and a bed of some sort, he imagined she was on to something. He held up her hand when she began talking about the rock not being alive.
“Listen,” he said, his voice hushed. He closed his eyes, following his own advice and letting the sounds of the world around them flood into his ears. He could hear birds, bugs, and other forms of life, each one ominous and sinister sounding as their cries were distorted by the swamp. He opened his eyes, “there be life in there, Mrs. Turner.”
He worked quickly, removing from his person his sword, knives, pistol and various other hidden weapons. He did not enjoy being unarmed, but if it granted him access into the swamp and out of the sun, away from the extreme vulnerability of the edge of the cliff, he would take the risk. Besides, he was a sturdy grappler in his own right, if there was need for defense. He moved towards the forest, hands splayed defenselessly, arms out at his sides. His deep blue eyes remained fixed on the boughs of the trees before him, and as he drew closer he noticed he had no new injuries.
“Weapons, Elizabeth,” he called back to her, an order for her to follow his lead. He was certain they would be able to pass unhindered if they did not pose a threat, “bring the chest, but hold it before you, and move carefully.”
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