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 Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 10:46 am
 Welcome to the Logs of William Welkin, owned by DareDelvil. This is a private journal, please do not post without permission.  Info Name: William Welkin Owner: DareDelvil Stage: Ship's Boy Crew Position: Rigging Rat Ship: Cuore Scuro Description:- 
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:26 pm
Treasure Map WARNING: Despyte hys Cute and Fluffye Exterior, Mister William Welkin ys an Dirtye Scuzzye Pyrate wyth an Dirtye Scuzzye Mynde. Averte thine Eyes from thys Journal yf thou Desyrest Not to Reade Such Thynges as Maye Sprynge Forthe Therefrom....You were warned. XD1: The Threshold (Intro)
2: Treasure Map (ToC)
3: The Welkin Weasel (About Will)
4: The Beast (About Weasels)
5: Ill-Gotten Gains (Will's Inventory)
6: Friends and Foes (People)
7: Portrait of a Pirate (Art)
8: Tales of the High Seas (Writings)
9: Soundtrack (Will-related Music)
10: The Happenings-Upon of Will and Company (RP/Journal History)
11: Who's Dorothy Crane? (FAQs)
12: Marked for Future Use
13: Marked for Future Use
14: The Code (Rules)
15: Tip o' the Hat (Credits)
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:28 pm
The Welkin Weasel Full Name: William Welkin
Nicknames: Will, "The Weasel"
Gender: Male
Age: Twenty-something
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 145lbs or thereabouts - lean, most of the weight is muscle
Distinguishing Features: Two extra weasel limbs, tuft of fur around his collarbone, complete fur covering from waist to knees, weasel tail
Strengths: Speed, dexterity, reflexes
Weaknesses: Toughness, anything involving brute strength, Dorothy
Weapon Of Choice: Brace of pistols, weasel claws
Family: James Welkin, father (deceased); Annabel Welkin, mother (deceased); Catherine Welkin, paternal grandmother (deceased); Henrietta Welkin, aunt (deceased); Veronica Welkin, aunt (deceased); Robert J. Welkin, brother (deceased); Dorothy Welkin (nee Crane), sister-in-law
Marital Status: Attached, planning to marry
Alignment: Chaotic neutral/evil
Personality: Feral, hedonistic, volatile
Likes: Slaughter, rare meat, honey, Dorothy
Dislikes: Flat calm, big men throwing their weight around, vegetables, most of his family
Currently (IC): On the Island of the Cursed Pirates, taking a well-earned break from his nefarious deeds.
Currently (OOC): A dragon and a letter from Dorothy? o.o
Extended Bio:
Will grew up an unwanted second child to a family consisting of a cold father, a sickly mother and a brutish, belligerent elder brother. He was often considered odd for his way of looking at the world, and ever since an unfortunate incident in which he killed three chickens - he wanted to know if they would really run around without their heads attached, but sadly the results of the experiment were lost - he spent most of his time locked away in the family home. His mother always loved him, though she despaired at his apparently tenuous grip on sanity and her inability to understand or help him, and her death was a dreadful blow to young Will.
As he grew older, he began to affect a veneer of shyness. People would not be able to get a word out of him, and he would voluntarily spend hours indoors rather than seeking out human contact. Plenty of work was available there, particularly after the family moved to an inn, and he soon became adept at cooking, cleaning, mending and whatever maintenance work required doing around the house. His brother Robert still took whatever opportunities he could to make Will's life miserable, but increasingly the words and blows seemed to roll off him: this only angered Robert further, unfortunately, and there was seldom a day when Will did not sport a bruise or two.
Will was fifteen, his brother eighteen, when the Crane family moved into the house across the street from the inn. The youngest daughter Dorothy was a queer, inquisitive girl who showed an apparent interest in everything and everyone. Robert, not realising that the patience and slightly lopsided kindness she showed him was afforded to the rest of the community as well, quickly fell in love with the one lass who would give him the time of day. For her part, Dorothy was a little too nice to tell him what an idiot he was: unfortunately, she was also a little too crafty to give up the gifts he regularly brought her in his clumsy attempts to win her affections. Robert should have realised that no ordinary girl would pay him any heed.
This went on for some time, and Will, the face at some window of the inn while he took a break from his duties, was often the amused witness of his brother's spectacular failings in the department of courtship. Robert only had to spot him once to decide that every mishap was his fault, but Will could not bring himself to care. One or two more bruises were worth it. Watching, though, Will began to feel a fondness of his own for the skinny, sharp-witted girl. Knowing that his mind was far from normal, one might call it an obsession; truthfully, though, it was closer to an acknowledgement of affinity. Dorothy Crane truly was no ordinary girl - she seemed to fear nothing, hate nothing, only wonder in that brilliant mind at what she saw, draw it into herself, take it apart, put it back together a different way.
One night, Will slipped out of the inn and crossed the street to the Crane household. Using the skills he had learned through years of mending the roof, he climbed to a first floor window - the only one that held any light - and peered in.
Green eyes met his wondering gaze.
Once again, Dorothy - though at first startled at his sudden appearance - was unafraid. She stared back at him, wide-eyed, for several seconds, hairbrush still in hand, nightdress caught by a draft and swirled about her ankles. The level gaze was enough to balk Will before long, and he dropped out of her line of sight and fled back to the inn. The image of her face, however, was burned indelibly into his mind.
Robert, fast asleep, had no inkling of what had come to pass. He would not know, not until years later, that Dorothy had ever seen his freak of a brother.
Less than a week later, Will vanished from his home town without a trace. Speculation said he had been press-ganged, but the truth was stranger: a weasel had bitten him as he approached a strange-looking ship, one that he had spotted moored just around the bay from the docks, and at once the curse of the Cuore Scuro had begun to overtake him. The pirates aboard, hearing his startled cries as three extra limbs began to grow from his body, whisked him away before he could alert anyone else to their presence.
By the time he awoke from the dead faint into which the curse had put him during his transformation, the pirate vessel was well under way.
It was quickly decided that Will was to be one of the pirate crew. Given his condition, there was no sense in throwing him off the ship - he would only alert suspicion and place the rest of the cursed ones in jeopardy. The crew, having noted his shy exterior and thinking that he would be little more than another ship's boy to kick about, were surprised by his natural aptitude for his duties. Delighted by the ship and the change of scene, he mopped the deck until it shone, mended his own clothes with neat stitches, and, even without prompting, regularly scurried up and down the rigging like a spider over its web. This last skill prompted Captain Teneck to assign him to the rigging rats.
Delighted to be granted a position that suited him so well, Will threw himself into the work of a pirate with unparalleled enthusiasm. He was fascinated by this new life, and he swiftly came out of the shell that had taken years to build. His new-found confidence and submissive yet quirky nature made him a favourite with the crew: Will would gladly entertain a party with anecdotes from his past, told in gleeful burlesque and furnished with marvellously exaggerated characters, or sing raucous shanties and drinking choruses, or use the sense of balance and dexterity he had gained through the curse to perform energetic tumbling acts. His old life, so it seemed, was forgotten.
It was a hot summer's night that found the cursed crew once more raiding a town. The familiar streets were as nothing to Will: most of his memories had been lost to the feral intelligence he knew only as Weasel, and he cared nothing for the life he had led without it.
Only when he and one of his crewmates burst into the inn, only when the older, thinner Robert J. Welkin began to plead for his life, did he begin to recall who he had once been. Dorothy, it seemed, had finally relented and married Robert, for she was there, a member of the family. The years had been remarkably good to her. Remembering both his brother's casual cruelty and Dorothy's wondering stare, Will and Weasel made a collective decision and ordered the deaths of everyone in the room - everyone, that is, except Dorothy. Dorothy was Will's prize.
The night that followed is best left undetailed.
Dorothy, though she had screamed and wept as Robert and his family were cut down, did not remain distressed for long. Once the shock had worn off, she began to regard Will with her usual measure of curiosity. For his part, the weasel pirate began to understand why Robert had enjoyed her attentions so much: she was a match for his wit and more, and she truly did seem to fear nothing. A worthy companion for a pirate, said Weasel, and Will could not help but agree. Gathering some of the gold he had collected during his time on the Cuore Scuro, he saw Dorothy off to the neighbouring port and promised to return as soon as he could. The ruined town was no place for her to stay. Though she would rather have followed him to the ship, she agreed to go.
Will returned to the ship, saying nothing of her to anyone, and has been sailing with Captain Teneck ever since. Quietly, he awaits the opportune moment to return to that port - his Dorothy awaits him there, and he will never let the thought of her rest until they are reunited.
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:30 pm
The Beast Weasels are mammals in the genus Mustela of the Mustelidae family. Originally, the name "weasel" was only applied to one species of the genus, the European form of the Least Weasel (Mustela nivalis) - rarely growing to more than 23 cm in length, this is the smallest known living carnivore in the world. Early literary references to weasels, for example their common appearances in fables, refer to this species rather than to the genus as a whole. Nowadays many other species are included in the common definition, though in Britain the name "weasel" is still used primarily to mean the Least Weasel.
Weasels vary in length from 15 to 35 centimeters (6 to 14 inches), and usually have a light brown upper coat, white belly and black fur at the tip of the tail. In many species, populations living at high latitudes moult to a white coat with black fur at the tip of the tail in winter: probably the best known example of this can be seen in the stoat (Mustela erminea), where the winter coat is referred to as "ermine". They have long slender bodies, which enable them to follow their prey into burrows. Their tails are typically almost as long as the rest of their bodies. As is typical of small carnivores, weasels have a reputation for cleverness and guile.
Most weasels feed on small mammals. In former times they were considered vermin, since some species took poultry from farms or rabbits from commercial warrens. Some species of weasel have been reported to perform a "hypnotic dance" in front of prey, which appears to mesmerize it. In folklore at least, this behavior is particularly associated with (again) the stoat.
Of the 16 extant species currently classified in the genus Mustela, only 10 have "weasel" in their common name. Among those that do not are the stoat (for the third time), the two species of mink, and the polecats or ferrets. It should also be noted that while some other mustelids, such as the pine marten (Martes martes) and the sable (Martes zibellina), are often classed as members of the weasel family, the mongoose, belonging to the Herpestidae family, is not.
In U.S. popular culture in particular, the term "weasel" is associated with devious characters. Many of these references are unclear about the fact that in US usage, "weasel" refers to a genus rather than a single species; for example, in Brian Jacques' Redwall series, weasels are one of the many villainous races, along with rats and ferrets - whereas biologically speaking ferrets are a species of weasel. In the Dilbert cartoons, some of the most devious characters are portrayed as literal weasels or have weasel-like features. To add to the weasel's reputation for skullduggery, the idiomatic phrase "Weasel words" refers to insincere or devious speech. Elements of the US media described the declaration by France, Germany and Belgium against the 2003 invasion of Iraq as "The Axis Of Weasel," a parody of the "Axis of Evil."
British popular culture references to weasels are generally specifically to the Least Weasel. For example Alan Lloyd's novel Kine, about a fictional war in the English countryside between weasels and the invasive species mink, who are depicted as sadistic, voracious invaders, giants in comparison to the weasels; in American usage, both species would be kinds of weasel. Kine in this context is an archaic word for weasel. Similarly in Kenneth Grahame's popular story The Wind in the Willows the villains are the weasels, the stoats and the ferrets, again three species of weasel in American usage. Here everyday usage reflects the original European use of the word weasel for a single species. In Garry Kilworth's Welkin Weasels series, weasels and stoats are considered vastly different - in the earlier novels, stoats have established themselves as the superior race and weasels, reluctantly or otherwise, are usually their servants.
A kamaitachi is, according to Japanese myth, a malevolent, weasel like wind spirit, wielding a sharp sickle. They are as good as always depicted in groups of three individuals, and the three act together in their attacks; the first one hits the victim so that he/she falls to the ground, the second slashes with the sickle and the third partially heals the wound.
American parodist "Weird Al" Yankovic dedicated an entire song on his album Straight Outta Lynwood (2006) to a ficticious holiday he titles Weasel Stomping Day. The song contains a cheery melody punctured with sounds that imply that weasels are being crushed. An animated music video to go along with Weasel Stomping Day, which first appeared on Cartoon Network's Adult Swim, very graphically depicts weasels being crushed in various ways.Thanks to Wikipedia for the original text - I have made my own additions where necessary.
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:31 pm
Ill-Gotten Gains Dubloons
Will currently has 13 dubloons.
Weaponry
- Brace of high-quality pistols, marked with gold
- Supply of pistol shot and gunpowder
- Simple black-hilted cutlass
Clothing
- Two pairs of britches (with a carefully made hole in each for his tail), one pair of which is red with gold patterns
- One shirt (with holes for his extra arms), reserved for particularly cold days
- Black cloth sash-belt and gold buckle
- Several pairs of underpants
- Pair of black leather boots
Miscellaneous
- Ammunition pouch (usually concealed by the back of his belt)
- Small leather purse
- His journal
- Quill and ink
- Gold locket, in which he keeps a lock of Dorothy's hair
Pets
- A small water dragon called Somesuch:
- ...and this bloody stupid animal his adorable cat Scrap:
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:33 pm
Friends and Foes Mana - the bird man. Me cabin-mate, good lad, doesn't mind me larkin' around and doesn't ask too many questions. Funny ideas about gods, but that just makes 'im interestin'. We don't live in each other's pockets, but we're good friends. FRIEND
Capt. Teneck - 'e's the Cap'n, what more's t'say? XD Bit gung-ho sometimes, but eh, 'e's got us through so far. An' 'e made me a riggin' rat, so that gets 'im points. FRIEND
Jasper - deck'and. Poor bugger suffers in the cold. Likes me tail for a fur stole, won't let 'im keep it in an'urry, tho... FRIEND
Valentine - gunner-man. Two maws, both 'ungry. Same name as...well, I dunno if there's anythin' t'that. Still, as long as 'e don't eat Scrap or nothin' 'e's on me good side. FRIEND
Wicktoria - riggin' rat. Doesn't talk t'me much. Kinda stoic. ALLY
Diego - craftsman. Don't know 'im well, but 'e seems a'right. Fixes things up a treat, too. ALLY
Clovis - cook! Everybody's best mate around dinner time. Cooks well, pity 'bout the arm. If ever I get meself a fifth I'll lend 'im one. ALLY
Amie - another of the crew. Haven' spoken to 'er much, but she's got a good curse goin' on there. Not as good as me, but that's not sayin' much. ALLY
Scrap - me lovely boy. Complete pudden'ead most o' the time, but 'e catches 'isself a good rat or two. An' 'e's warm and 'e purrs and 'e loves me best, yes 'e does. ^^ FRIEND
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:34 pm
Portrait of a Pirate The official art of Will at Ship's Boy stage. He's well-dressed for a pirate of his rank, but that's partly due to his lack of particular need for a shirt most of the time. Mobility with those arms is more important than warmth, and the fur keeps him surprisingly warm anyway. Less money spent on shirts - and, indeed, mending said shirts - means more money available for nice boots, fancy britches and cloth sash belts. Will knows he's a fairly good-looking soul (even with the extra limbs) and likes to dress to make the most of it.
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:35 pm
Tales of the High Seas The Weasel's Revenge - DareDelvil
(This is the RP entry that won me Will. ^^)Prompt 3 The ship has docked at a small town on a small island, the captain orders that the crew is to take all valuables they can, and that all townsfolk are to be killed, unless they are able-bodied males that can be 'persuaded' to join the crew. You and the rest of the crew run into town and begin murdering the people, and stealing anything of value.
You and one of your crew mates kick down the door to one of the houses, and you see a small family (1 man, 4 women) huddled together in a corner. The people look oddly familiar, but you can't seem to place where or when you could have met those people. The man stands up when he spots you, he doesn't move any further, he just stares blankly at you, as if he was looking at a ghost. He then speaks, "Is... It really you, brother?"
Did he just ask if you were his brother? What are you going to do? You should be quick though, your crew mate's eyes are filled with bloodlust and he might kill the people before you can even think of what the man said!
"Hold!" he called back to his crewmate. "Put up yer blade, messmate - let me deal with this'un. And don't ye dare go lootin' th'place wi'out me, right?"
After a brief moment spent seeing that his request (ha) was carried out by his grumbling cohort, the weasel-man turned his attention back to the stunned villager. The face was familiar. He had to know it, he admitted that, but...from where? And wasn't it a little far-fetched that this man, this man of all men - now trembling at the sight of the armed nightmare approaching him - should be his brother? It was hard to tell. Weasel was not tidy in its nesting, and it was hoarding his earliest recollections most effectively.
"Ye say ye're m'brother, then?" he said sharply, gesturing at the man (and wasn't he well dressed?) with his pistol. "A'right, bide me questions. What's yer name?"
The man swallowed hard. "...R-Robert," he stammered. "...I...I don't understand..."
Alarm bells were clanging at the back of his head, but for the life of him the pirate couldn't read the labels below them. "...Right," he said, a little more quietly this time, pacing the floor in front of the knot of terrified women. "And what's my name, Mister Robert? Answer carrrrrrful, now...if I finds ye're lyin', ye won't go to th'Other Side easy."
His crewmate's rough chuckle probably did nothing to improve their victim's state of mind. Robert was quaking like a leaf. Strangely, though, no answer came. Weasel shifted restlessly, prompting a growl of irritation from its host. Click-crack. His pistol was cocked, and a heartbeat later he aimed it - not at Robert, as Weasel had suggested, but further to the right -
"OhNOdon'thurtherPLEASEI'lldoanything..."
He hadn't really been watching where he was pointing the muzzle. Just somewhere into the little huddle of women would do, he'd decided, and it seemed to be having the intended effect. "What's my name, Mister Gennulman?" he repeated, snarling the words out through clenched teeth. "Speak it quick, though it may be th'Devil's own, or I swear to ye I'll send 'er straight t'Hell!"
That was enough. Robert snapped. "William!" he cried desperately. "William Welkin!"
William Welkin.
Weasel gave up only shreds of memories at the speaking of the trigger, but for once they were more than enough. Channeling some forgotten shard of himself, the pirate named Will watched a younger, plumper, sneering version of Robert swing another punch, felt the blow thud into his flesh and bruise the bone beneath, heard a woman's cry - his mother's? -
"...God..."
His head snapped around, eyes locking on to the source of the sound. The youngest of the women had dared to speak, even though the pistol in his hand was still aimed squarely (oh, what a good shot, without even looking at her) between her eyes -
"...you're...you're Will..."
And oh, God, he knew her too. Brown curls pinned neatly back, pale hands even now lying gracefully at her sides, moss-green eyes more disbelieving than fearing -
"...Dorothy."
Dorothy Crane.
Or, as she must now be, Mrs Robert Welkin.
Will remembered her now. In a way, he had never forgotten. He remembered watching his brother's clumsy advances from an upper window, feeling sorry for the almost-pretty lass with the green ribbon in her hair. He remembered being kicked, in the manner of a dog or some similar dumb scapegoat, every time she had politely declined to entertain said advances. He remembered - and this was the strongest of all - he remembered making a forbidden trip out of doors at night and meeting, just for a moment, the eyes of his brother's beloved Dorothy. She had started at first, not expecting (he sensibly supposed) to see an unfamiliar youth crouching outside her window, but then...then she had almost seemed to wonder at him. It was this look of half-frightened rapture that he saw in her now: almost mesmerised by his gaze, but still with the freedom to look, to stare, to marvel. He had only been a stranger back then. Now he was a threat, and yet still...he could see not a flicker of hatred in her expression.
He almost, almost lowered the pistol.
"Don't shoot her!"
Robert's voice, sounding rather ineffectual now. This was why he liked firearms so much. They were the great leveller: every man was the same size when he stared down the barrel of a gun. Will silenced his estranged sibling with a brisk hand gesture. The clump-clump of boots and the muffled whimper of terror told him that - good - his comrade had taken the hint to restrain their victim. Dorothy flinched. It was a dainty movement, much like everything else about her. Time had been remarkably kind to the awkward, skinny girl he remembered. Slowly, cautiously, Will took a step back and allowed Dorothy to move away from the rest of the family. One grandmother and two aunts, he suspected, though none were particularly memorable.
"...They said you were cursed," the lady ventured, still seeming to drink him in with her eyes. "They said...you were a monster."
Oh, did they now? The thought amused Weasel. In contrast, Will remained troubled: there was a hint of belief in her tone that he did not enjoy. Could he sensibly blame her for it? Here he was, a willing member of a band of ruthless corsairs, essentially given orders to slaughter her and her entire family. Was it any wonder that she was beginning to believe his brother's poisonous words? ...And how close, for that matter, had that nightmare vision become to the truth?
The decision he made was surprisingly, indeed almost disturbingly, easy.
"Hate t'tell ye this, Missuss Welkin," he answered, smirking as Weasel's small limbs flexed their claws, "but...they were right."
One-two swift steps and he had her - one strong arm about her shoulders, both Weasel's compliant paws latched on to her waist. She gave a shriek of terror at the touch of the beast's claws. Robert struggled in his crewmate's grip, desperate to reach his wife. Who was helpless now? Who was the victim now? Revenge flowed over his tongue, sharp and metallic as fresh blood, and silently he revelled in it.
"Kill 'im," Will called to the pirate, almost nonchalantly. "And...oh, since 'e's me brother...make it quick."
Mr Welkin's throat was cut before he could make a sound. Dorothy screamed, writhing against Will's body but unable to loosen his hold on her. It felt good to be strong, Will remarked vaguely to Weasel as his comrade cut down the other three women in a few practiced strokes - they fell like so much wheat before the scythe, and Dorothy was sobbing now, still trying in vain to break free, and Will sheathed his pistol the better to hold her with all four hands. God, she was so warm.
"G'wan an' search th'house," he told his crewmate with a conspiratorial grin. "Take what ye want. Me, I've got me share right 'ere..."
As the departing pirate laughed, as his boots drummed on the stairs, Weasel's claws tightened upon Dorothy's dress. Will could feel the animal's savage joy thundering through his veins as he kissed her forcefully, stealing the breath from her lips, tasting salt tears that reminded him not of grief, but of the sea.
All the gold in the world, he considered, could not have bought him this night.~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Delusions of Grandeur - DareDelvil
(This was an entry for a RP contest: the prize was captaincy of the Aurarius. Will didn't win, but I had so much fun writing the entry I thought I'd archive it here all the same. ^w^)All Prompts A competent and skilled young elf has caught your eye as deserving of a promotion to second mate. They're hard working, trustworthy and loyal to you, invaluable traits in an officer. Unfortunately your first mate holds a grudge against all non-humans, and most of the crew would side with him if he objects.
Tension has been building among your crew and you fear a mutiny. You overhear whispers of a plot to maroon you by three well respected fighters.
You sight a pirate ship of equal size and strength to your own. There's little to be gained from such a fight, but your crew has been restless lately and a battle might be good for them.
What do you do?
Will, his fingers wound around the arms of his chair, stared levelly back at his first mate. "An' why's that, then?" he answered, a hint of sharpness in his voice. "Because 'e's an elf?"
"You know damn well why!" the other man shot back, stalking away from the desk to lean both hands against the opposite wall. "Because he's not human! You could've picked just about anyone and I'd've licked him into shape, but not the bloody elf! I can't make him human!"
Biting his lip briefly, Will caught sight of a half empty bottle of rum - he fought the urge to hurl it at his first mate. "Why d'ye need to?" he demanded. "Why does every mangy seadog on this ship 'ave to be human? What's the damn diff'rence?"
"Every damn difference! God hates them, Will, you know it!"
That was it. Will didn't want to hear another word. "If you cared what God thought o'ye, Johnny-boy," Will said quietly, dangerously, "ye wouldn't be a pirate. Now - no more. No more, Johnny," he insisted, holding up one hand for quiet when the other man seemed about to interrupt. "We'll talk on't in the mornin', when you're a liddle more inclined t'be sensible and I'm a liddle less inclined t'throw summat at ye. Go on, out."
In case John had decided to stay, a sharp jab of his finger towards the door underlined Will's resolution. Clearly wrestling with his temper, the taller man turned and flung open the door. "As you wish, Captain," he grumbled.
"Oh, and Johnny?"
Will rose, watched John stop in the doorway and turn back. Slowly, deliberately, he unfolded his paws and rested them on the desk before him, letting his furry tail swish into view from behind him.
"In case ye forgot," he said, his stare not so angry as it was cold, "God hates me too."
The door slammed shut behind the second mate. Will heard his heavy bootsteps retreating as though through water, strange and distorted. Within him the beast was stirring, gnawing at his insides. Clenched fists - one swipe of the tail -
- CRASH of breaking glass -
- and Will surfaced again, turning weakly to look at the sad little heap of damp shards that had once been a bottle of rum. His bottle of rum.
"...I wanted that," he mumbled.
Unsurprisingly, there came no answer: even if Weasel had been capable of speech, it was far too angry to consider communication. Despairing a little, Will took a few unsteady steps towards the mess - perhaps he could salvage some of the drink -
His belt jingled. He blinked once or twice, and looked down. Oh. The quartermaster's spare keys. The first set had been lost with their owner in the last battle, and without anyone trustworthy to replace him Will had taken over until a suitable candidate could be found. Well. He'd better lock the storeroom, hadn't he? The Devil knew who might go pinching supplies if he didn't. Ah well. At least it might distract him from the loss of the rum for a while.
The sun was setting, and the ship was dim and cold. Neither of these two things caused Will much of a problem. He trailed one hand along the wall, feeling his way down the familiar passage with quiet steps until he reached the storeroom door. One paw held the keys silent, not wishing to wake any of the crew who might already be resting - though he envied the lucky creatures, all tucked up in their hammocks and bunks, he didn't want to have a tired crew for the morning shift.
Only when he began to hear the voice coming from within the little storeroom did he realise how lucky he'd been not to make a sound.
"...not far from 'ere, 'e'd never make it off that bit o'nowhere alive..."
A second voice chimed in a moment later. "Yeah - an' it saves us angerin' the Devil by doin' the killin' ourselves."
"Yuh," said a third. "Oi doan't fancy takin' dat crazed rat-demon whoile 'e knows wot's goin' on..."
Oh, Davy Jones take his soul, Will thought desperately, they were talking about him. He tried to stop breathing, peering through the keyhole to catch a glimpse of them as their conversation continued.
"Hey," the second man, a skinny fellow with a ragged moustache, put in. "Can we leave that rotten liddle elf with 'im?"
"Moight be able to," the third rumbled from on high, his thick brow furrowing, "if we can catch 'im. Better get rid of 'im, or 'e'll oanly be trouble later."
When the first speaker stepped back into view, Will was not entirely surprised to see that he, like his co-conspirators, was human. The distinctive scar that ran down his face was enough to complete the picture: these three were possibly the most respected men on the ship.
"Then it's settled," he said, the scar twisting his skin as he smirked. "Spread th'word among the crew, those we can trust. When th'ship gets near t'that island...we'll maroon the pair of 'em."
Cackles rose from the skinny man's throat, and the man-mountain's low chuckle sounded along with it. Turning away from the door, Will felt as though he had swallowed a lump of ice. Mutiny. They planned to have him dead - and they were such cowards that they wouldn't even kill him themselves. He couldn't count on John to back him, not after all that had been said tonight, and for all his loyalty that one little elf wouldn't be enough to save him. They'd both be seeing the Devil before long. Instinctively, Will's hand wandered to the pendant about his neck. He could almost feel the lock of hair through the gilt case.
"What do I do, Dotty?" he whispered, so softly that even he could barely hear it. "What would you do, you an' your clever liddle 'ead, if you were standin' out 'ere instead o'me?"
Somewhere out in the wide world, a young lady with long brown curls might have turned in her sleep, murmured something unintelligible, reached for a hand that was not there.
Back aboard the ship, quiet footfalls announced the arrival of the one crewmember Will would trust with his life at that moment. It was the elf. By the look in his eye, he had something to say. Luckily, Will could also trust him to be quiet when told: he gestured with a finger to his lips and beckoned his crewman closer. "What is it, boy?" he asked, barely breathing the words out but knowing that an elf's sharp ears would pick them up.
"Ship sighted, sir," the young creature whispered back. "Frigate, pirate colours - heading west."
"Anyone else seen it?" Will pressed him. "Ye know 'ow they're all spoilin' fer...wait..."
Some men claim that their moments of most brilliant thinking are inspired by God.
As far as Will was concerned, the plan that began to form in his mind at that moment was all Dorothy's idea.
"...Never mind," he told the elf quietly. "Get out there an' sound the alarm - get all the crew t'their stations ready for the attack, an' I don't care who ye have t'kick outta bed. Whoever those flearidden mongrels out there are, they'll be takin' their breakfast wi'Davy Jones in the mornin'."
Throwing a hasty salute and tossing a quiet "aye, sir" after it, the lean creature hurried away. Will, meanwhile, still in the grips of inspiration, moved silently back toward the door, reached for the keys at his belt...
...and locked it.
Then the ship's bell clanged in the distance, and before long he was out on deck, surrounded by his crew, loading his pistols and readying himself for battle. He saw John rush out from his cabin, cutlass in hand, and the elf was soon at his Captain's side with his sabre drawn. There was a flicker of love in the boy's eyes, Will thought to himself as the crew awaited his orders.
"Bring us up alongside!" he shouted, a feral gleam lighting his eyes from within. "Ready the grapeshot! All hands, prepare for battle!"
A great roar of approval went up from the assembled multitude. They'd been waiting for this. In taking them to battle, Will had given them what they wanted. Conveniently, it had also allowed him to spring a trap upon his enemies.
As the two ships drew level, the deafening blast of cannon fire filled the air. Mooring lines were thrown across, and the crew of the Aurarius swarmed on to the deck of the unprepared frigate. Will was at their head, firing both his pistols in quick succession and felling two pirates before he had even taken two steps. The enemy was frightened. Weasel could smell the fear on the evening air. Together, as the battle raged around them, they rejoiced in it.
~*~*~
It was not long before the battle was won. The enemy crew, caught by surprise, had hardly stood a chance against Will and his men. Some of the survivors had been all too keen to join a new crew, while the rest had been put to a swift death and tossed overboard. Though it took some effort, Will managed to keep his crew from the rum supplies aboard the captured frigate for long enough to set the next part of the plan in motion.
"Boys!" he called, gratified by the cheer he received in response but holding up his hands for quiet. "Has any man seen our terrible trio t'night? Surely they must'a been at th'front lines, doin' their duty to th'ship an' crew, but I can't see them among ye now..."
Of course, Will knew exactly where they were. It was a struggle to keep the grin off his face and frown at the murmurs of confusion. "What?" he said, feigning incredulity. "No man's seen'em? Can't've...deserted their stations, can they?"
There was a ripple of displeasure at that - hardly anyone had come away without at least a few cuts and bruises. "Check the store!" someone piped up, and Will almost burst out laughing - luckily it was covered by the general shouts of agreement, which caused him to have to call for quiet again. "All right, boys!" he answered. "We'll check the store, see if our three friends might be there - can't think why, though... No man'd have reason t'be there...unless he thought o'stealin' from 'is messmates..."
And then he had to follow the stampede. His elven friend was left at the back with him, his eyes full of shock and disbelief. Will almost felt like a turncoat for deceiving him, but the memory of the fate those men had planned for him was all too close for the guilt to take hold.
They hurried down to the storeroom together, and Will pushed his way through the crowd to the door. "Stand back, boys, lemme through! I locked th'door before I came out, since quar'master's gone - " He waited out the few pious shouts of "God rest 'is soul!" before continuing. " - so gimme some room t'open it, eh?"
Obediently they moved back. The click of the key in the lock had never been so satisfying, the creak of the hinges never so delightful. Sure enough, there were the three fighters. And they didn't look so brave now, desperately trying to protest their innocence - all it took was John stepping forward and asking what they had been doing to silence them. A little of his glee slipping through, Will called for the boatswain and his lash. The crew needed no prompting to drag the three mutineers out to the deck and hold them fast. One of them, the leader from before, was whimpering, begging for mercy. Will scowled.
"D'ye hear this dog, boys?" he snarled, kicking the man sharply in the ribs. "Beggin' fer 'is rotten hide? If there's one thing worse than a man thievin' from 'is mates, me boys, it's a filthy COWARD doin' it! Bosun! Give this maggot extra!"
The look that passed from Will to the fighter was enough to say it: I know. I know you would've marooned me, and I'm letting you live to suffer because I know you're too weak to take the crew from me. You are dust beneath my heel, and this punishment is my mercy.
As the first lash fell, as the first scream rang out, as the first ragged cheer rippled around the crowd of pirates, William Welkin was Captain of the Aurarius once again.
~*~*~
Will was just putting the finishing touches on the day's log entry when a quiet knock sounded at his door. "Come in, Johnny-o," he called, having heard the approaching footsteps and known his first mate's tread. "It's not locked."
A moment, a click, and John popped his head into the room. He wore a slightly sheepish expression. "...Sorry about earlier, Cap'n," he said quietly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "I was out of turn, saying things like that and being so ill-tempered."
The weasel pirate waved him off. "Ferget it, Johnny," he said sincerely. "I forgave ye long ago. I know why ye said all that...I know why ye hate them. But the fact is 'e's not like the ones who - "
" - stole from the village, I know," John cut in, looking even more ashamed than before. "I know he's not. It hit me tonight. He...he saved my life out on that ship, Will. No thought for himself - cut a man down, twice his size, who would've made dog-meat of me if he hadn't stepped in. And then...those three thieves...the one you cursed out for a coward, he - he was my first choice for second mate."
Will's surprise went blessedly unnoticed: John was staring at his boots. "And I suppose...tonight has just shown me that I'm...a wretched judge of character, and I need to learn to trust my Cap'n once in a while. So..." He looked up, eyes like those of a little boy asking his father for forgiveness. "...yeah."
After a moment's awkward silence, Will spoke. "...I'm not askin' ye t'ferget what happened," he said gently. "All I ask is for ye t'give 'im a go. If 'e slips up, we'll try someone else fer a while instead. And you choose. A'right?"
John nodded slowly. "If you trust him, Will...I'll give him a chance."
Will grinned. "That's the spirit, Johnny," he said encouragingly. "Go on t'bed, an' we'll sort it all in th'mornin'. An' who knows? Ye might even get t'like 'im."
Rolling his eyes, John headed for the door. "Never," he said, "in a month of Sundays."
"Oh, I dunno," Will pointed out with a swish of his tail, his expression a little gleeful as he put his boots up on his desk. "Ye got t'like me, din't ye?"
John turned back, but this time he was grinning too. "G'night, Will."
Will's eyes softened a touch. "Sweet dreams, Johnny-boy..."
The door closed behind the first mate, and Will leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. His fingers found their way to the gilded locket once again, fondly caressing its dimpled surface.
"Brilliant as always, Dotty me love," he breathed.
And perhaps, somewhere, miles away, the young lady with the brown curls settled deeper into her bed...and smiled.
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:36 pm
Soundtrack Epica: Hunab Ku (instrumental)
It's almost like Pirates of the Caribbean, by a band that mostly does metal. It's beyond awesome.
Peeping Tom: Mojo
Madness and paranoia aboard the Cuore Scuro as one cursed pirate gets himself psyched up for battle - or worse. Anachronisms ahoy and a little too far off the deep end for Will, but you could believe it of Weasel. Beware drug references and gore.
Oingo Boingo: Insanity
Creepy at its best. Will's disdain for normality and his dark, murderous tendencies come through strongly in this track. Lots of anachronisms for his time, but I couldn't go without mentioning it. Beware some adult references and extreme levels of creepy.
My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean
If you haven't heard this little song (no idea who it's by, probably one of those that's marked "Traditional" in all the music books) I pity you. It was one of the ones I heard frequently during my childhood, and it's appropriate for Will when he's thinking of Dorothy (again).
Klaus Badelt: He's A Pirate (instrumental)
Because let's face it, most people around here have their Jack Sparrow moments. Will is (gleefully) no exception. XD
Johnny Rzeznik: I'm Still Here
This is the theme for Jim Hawkins in Disney's Treasure Planet, but it fits Will rather nicely as well. Follow the lyrics through, and Will is first speaking to his brother, and of his almost invisible status as a domestic servant, and then to Dorothy, and of his new life as a successful pirate: unlike Robert he's still here, and he's the one to watch. ^^
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:38 pm
The Happenings Upon of Will and Company Will's Journal
08/11/2006 - Will complains about the fog, and worries about Dorothy.
28/02/2007 - Will muses on the battle with the Dementia.
14/04/2007 - Will looks back on a battle with a merchant ship.
02/12/2007 - Will is home, and thinking fondly on his cat and his girl.
30/01/2008 - Will gets a letter - and a new friend - from Dorothy.
RP Logs
To be added as Will continues with his adventures.
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:39 pm
Who's Dorothy Crane? Wow! A part-weasel pirate! How'd he get that way?
He was afflicted by the same curse as the rest of Captain Teneck's crew, though not at the same time: he was bitten by a stowaway weasel while the ship was docked, and once the crew saw what he had become they took him on board. See his extended bio for more details, but suffice it to say that Will enjoys being the way he is.
What came along with the curse?
Essentially, Weasel. Weasel is the entity that lives in Will's mind, and it represents the beast of the curse. Will is at peace with Weasel for the most part, given they share many interests, and therefore Will can usually command his feral lodger without too much trouble. Weasel recognises that Will is the smarter of the two, but can never take enough credit for the enhancements he gives to Will's body:
- two extra limbs, capable of gripping surfaces, assisting with climbing or hanging, holding small objects and making close range claw attacks
- a slightly keener than average sense of smell
- slightly heightened speed and reflexes
- patches of soft, warm fur
- a tail, good for balance, warmth and swatting cute backsides
- a certain sense of wild courage that makes him difficult to balk, and a feral wisdom that helps him survive in harsh conditions
...all of which Will loves, and would not give up for the world.
So his weapon of choice is claws?
Claws, pistols, speed, fear and the element of surprise. If a man's holding on to the rigging with four limbs, no one expects him to have two free for shooting.
Is Will evil?
Define evil. He has no qualms about killing and/or maiming as such, but there are times when (for whatever reason) he chooses not to use lethal force. He is loyal to those he considers allies, but if they wear out their welcome (by betraying him, for instance, or doing something to make him lose his respect for them) he will no longer consider them allies. That makes them fair game. He's closer to evil than good, but that doesn't mean he's utterly incapable of doing anything good. The best word would probably be...twisted.
Where'd the cat come from?
ICly, Will rescued Scrap from being drowned - he was the runt of an unexpected litter, all of which, save him, displayed a form of polydactyly that gave them an extra opposable toe on each paw. While these "thumb-cats" are considered lucky by sailors and valued as pest-catchers aboard ship, Scrap was much smaller than his brethren, lacked the lucky thumb, and could not be sold. Will took him from the owner, who had thought to drown him as a kindness since he could not afford to keep him, and has had him ever since.
OOCly, he got him from a Loyalty Chest soon after the shop's first birthday. ^^
What's that funny dragon-type-thing?
OOCly, it's a water dragon: a Secret Santa from the shop. ICly, Will hasn't the faintest idea - hence the name Somesuch.
Captain Will?
He wishes. XD
And one last thing: who the hell is Dorothy Crane?
Dorothy Crane was, until recently, Mrs Robert J. Welkin. Since Mr Welkin's tragic and untimely death, Will has been taking care of his brother's widow as best he can in absentia. He fully intends to marry her next time he gets some shore leave, though admittedly this has less to do with an obligation to his dearly departed brother than one might think.
In herself, Dorothy is a bright young lady who fears far less than she ought and wonders far more than is seemly. Though she is rather short, somewhat bony and not classically beautiful, she could easily be considered a sight for sore eyes - natural chestnut curls fall to her shoulders when unbound, her delicate features bear a dusting of freckles, and her moss-green eyes are almost perpetually fascinated. She does not fear or hate Will for his unnatural appearance, and that in itself is attractive to him.
To cut a long story short, Dorothy Crane is Will Welkin's one true weakness. This is probably why no one (save Will) knows who, or for that matter where, she is.
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:44 pm
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:45 pm
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:47 pm
The Code Please don't post in here. If you want to RP with Will, we can set it up somewhere else; if you want to send me (or Will) a message then PM me. This journal is for Will's diary entries and completed RP logs.
I don't mind what you or your characters think of or say to Will, but please don't assume that because he's rotten to your characters I have something against you. I probably don't. ^^
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:51 pm
Tip o' the Hat William Welkin character concept: DareDelvil
The name "Welkin" as associated with Weasels: Garry Kilworth, The Welkin Weasels
Weasel information: Wikipedia
Official art: Ara Rouge and Amsterdam
Other art, writings and so forth: As noted
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