06-10-2017, 11:57 PM
Imperial captain Vodar watched the rebel prime as he jumped nearly ten feet and grabbed hold of the gun port and scrambling inside. Primes the captain thought with a mixture of resignation and frustration. The man looked almost sixty and there he went with the aptitude of a scampering monkey. He was inside. That was good. Vodar grunted, swinging the wheel of the trading ship into a hard-starboard tilt, falling behind the massive warship once again.
He did not like having to trust his legacy to this conman. The old codger had explained quite carefully just how much he needed Vodar’s help, and had even come up with their current plan. This was precisely why Vodar couldn’t trust him, but he already had. Vodar couldn’t help it. He wanted to see the good in people. Sheil had taught him to do that, and it was the least he could do to try.
Vodar did not like many of his duties as a captain in the Imperial Navy. To him the blockading of Cinnabar island seemed like a pointless waste of resources. The pirates of Blue Flame island continued to prey upon merchant vessels, and Admiral Kizaru seemed quite content to sit and leech resources from the critters instead of dealing with the actual threats. Vodar wondered slightly as to Kizaru’s long term goals, the Imperial navy seemed like it would struggle to hold the verse together should they lose the emperor’s support. And with a man like Palpantine in charge this was a disturbingly possible situation.
It was not Vodar’s place to question, though, he was still a low-level captain, not even given control of a full-sized Galleon. Vodar sighed, then adjusted the angle of his approach. And it seemed likely that he would never be given one. Up ahead, some of the crew had noticed his intentions, and were looking up at him in alarm. The prime had certainly got the easier of the two jobs. They hadn’t had time to make sure that every man aboard the vessel was willing to follow the path Vodar was forcing them on. And as expected one or two of the braver looking lads were making their way towards his position at the helm. His own men would bar the entrance. They at least had the foresight to realize that there would be no running from this fight.
There would be no dreadnaught for the pirates to rally behind. Not while a captain of the Imperial Navy could do something about it. There were sounds of a scuffle at the base of the helm. Enough of the sailors were seeing his plan that they were trying to force their way through his guards rather than simply running. He didn’t expect them to make any progress, but it was still regrettable that they couldn’t see this was their only chance of keeping their dignity intact.
Vodar surveyed the angle of his approach. They had done it. They had gotten close enough to the enemy that the giant warship would not be able to destroy them first. Vodar gave a grim smile, it was a minor victory. He would have liked to have died on an imperial vessel, he thought almost idly as he gazed up at the mast, imagining the standard of the imperial navy waving proudly in the sea air. Eyes still fixed on the non-existent flag, Vodar gave the signal. Several of his men tipped barrels of oil, soaking the front end of the vessel thoroughly. There were cries of dismay and alarm from the crew of the trading ship, and they rushed to try and stop what was already happening. Vodar could not make them understand but to his gratitude, his crew did, to a man. He saluted them, back straight and arms crossed. They replied the gesture, the rear of the large battleship looming far too close behind them, then dropped their torches.
The burning prow of the christened trading ship smashed directly into the engine block of the dreadnaught, in an explosion of fire and wood.
He did not like having to trust his legacy to this conman. The old codger had explained quite carefully just how much he needed Vodar’s help, and had even come up with their current plan. This was precisely why Vodar couldn’t trust him, but he already had. Vodar couldn’t help it. He wanted to see the good in people. Sheil had taught him to do that, and it was the least he could do to try.
Vodar did not like many of his duties as a captain in the Imperial Navy. To him the blockading of Cinnabar island seemed like a pointless waste of resources. The pirates of Blue Flame island continued to prey upon merchant vessels, and Admiral Kizaru seemed quite content to sit and leech resources from the critters instead of dealing with the actual threats. Vodar wondered slightly as to Kizaru’s long term goals, the Imperial navy seemed like it would struggle to hold the verse together should they lose the emperor’s support. And with a man like Palpantine in charge this was a disturbingly possible situation.
It was not Vodar’s place to question, though, he was still a low-level captain, not even given control of a full-sized Galleon. Vodar sighed, then adjusted the angle of his approach. And it seemed likely that he would never be given one. Up ahead, some of the crew had noticed his intentions, and were looking up at him in alarm. The prime had certainly got the easier of the two jobs. They hadn’t had time to make sure that every man aboard the vessel was willing to follow the path Vodar was forcing them on. And as expected one or two of the braver looking lads were making their way towards his position at the helm. His own men would bar the entrance. They at least had the foresight to realize that there would be no running from this fight.
There would be no dreadnaught for the pirates to rally behind. Not while a captain of the Imperial Navy could do something about it. There were sounds of a scuffle at the base of the helm. Enough of the sailors were seeing his plan that they were trying to force their way through his guards rather than simply running. He didn’t expect them to make any progress, but it was still regrettable that they couldn’t see this was their only chance of keeping their dignity intact.
Vodar surveyed the angle of his approach. They had done it. They had gotten close enough to the enemy that the giant warship would not be able to destroy them first. Vodar gave a grim smile, it was a minor victory. He would have liked to have died on an imperial vessel, he thought almost idly as he gazed up at the mast, imagining the standard of the imperial navy waving proudly in the sea air. Eyes still fixed on the non-existent flag, Vodar gave the signal. Several of his men tipped barrels of oil, soaking the front end of the vessel thoroughly. There were cries of dismay and alarm from the crew of the trading ship, and they rushed to try and stop what was already happening. Vodar could not make them understand but to his gratitude, his crew did, to a man. He saluted them, back straight and arms crossed. They replied the gesture, the rear of the large battleship looming far too close behind them, then dropped their torches.
The burning prow of the christened trading ship smashed directly into the engine block of the dreadnaught, in an explosion of fire and wood.
If history is to become legend, it first must be recorded.