boat hook

Someday, we’ll run into each other again, I know it. Maybe I’ll be older and smarter and just plain better. If that happens, that’s when I’ll deserve you. But now, at this moment, you can’t hook your boat to mine, because I’m liable to sink us both.
—  Gabrielle Zevin, Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac

i had a dream last night about a dragon and a giant merman who were in love with each other 0__0 it was kinda weird but also really fantasy-ish and i lay in bed a long time afterwards just thinking about it…


Fishermen may wear the garb of mundane fishers but they’re impossible to mistake up close.  Over ten feet tall with an eerie light in their eyes and grizzled faces with beards that host tiny sea life, these outsiders harvest a bounty of souls, hauling up soul cages from the depths with the same boat hooks and gaff hooks they wield to deadly effect as weapons.  At CR 15, these grizzled strangers of the sea are frightfully powerful, able to know the weather within 30 miles and sensing the lifeforce of anyone within half that distance.  They can draw up clerical spells from some dark source, too.  With a talent for coming up as sailors begin to die from storms and misfortune, their soul cages trap the dead like prize possessions, though they refuse to collect those slain by violence.  Fishermen also love to gamble, frequently finding fair odds impossible to resist, but they keep to promised wagers, bound by a code of honor and their nature as lawful beings.

Overall, fisherman are eerie, frightening figures of the sea, easily cast as the subject of local lore but dismissed by some as mere rumors and superstition.  Sailors might see them when the worst storms come up, gambling between themselves for the crew of a doomed ship.  It’s sometimes hard to know what to do with high-CR creatures but with their love of fair wagers and codes of honor, fishermen can be worked into encounters with lower-level parties without risking a TPK.

Known up and down the Mississippi, the paddlewheel steamer Lady of Orleans caters to the most jaded gamblers.  Even for them, having the gaunt, weatherbeaten form of a fisherman board the ship as a major storm brews up is cause for comment.  Unable to resist, Gentleman John Kinsey accepted the grim brute’s offer of a game of chance but his infamous luck finally ran out, trapping him in one of the fisherman’s soul cages. To bring him to justice (and to earn the reward on his bounty), a group of freelance detectives must beat the fisherman in a game of chance for his new favorite prize.

Thinking them just more debris and lobster cages, a gang of grindylows abscond with the soul cages of the fisherman Carzug.  Driven to a murderous rage, Carzug assumes the smugglers and ne’er-do-wells of nearby Black Tortoise Cove must be responsible.  Simply returning the soul cages might assuage the fisherman’s anger.  On the other hand, freeing the trapped souls by slaying Carzug could lead to clemency from local authorities.

Confined by the laws of the dead, a shinigami is forced to turn to mortals for assistance.  Legally, her jurisdiction stops at the shoreline but the dereliction of duty by the shinigami of the seas has allowed a fisherman to move into the area and begin claiming lost souls for his grisly collection.  If the adventurers can bring the fisherman’s soul cages to her, the shinigami will free the imprisoned souls to return to the cycle of death and rebirth.

- Tome of Horrors 4 95-96

The waves are relentlessly furious, fighting with all the boats; spars.
Sharp enough to cut through anything, cold enough to burn out the stars.

Despite the sea’s deep fury, the ship pushed through it steady,
as if it was made of unsinkable lead, death inescapable but he’s ready.

At the wheel stood the Captain, dressed from head to foot in black,
soaked to the bone from rain and sea, droplets falling from his hair, face and down his back.

He stood with a solid grace, unmoving in contrast to the harshness around him.
A stony face of unwavering seriousness, gaze dead ahead into the grey dim.

The waves hadn’t caught him yet and he didn’t suppose they ever would, not as long as he kept on running. Running, always running, as fast as he could.

It wasn’t quite morning but the black darkness had given way to a grey.
The dawning sky broke open to a howling wind, searching for it’s prey.

The lightning flashed a question “Where are you running to?”
And soon followed the thunder who added loudly, “No not where who?”

His eyelids shut over stormy eyes and from the horizon rose a gentle glow, as if it was it’s time.
The lightning flashed in anger though slightly dimmer now, the rain lessoning it’s lashing, lowering it’s crime.

The light touched the sky in shining white beams, shooting up and out.
The heavy black clouds shook and cowered in fear, giving up the fight.

The thunder rumbled in a mocking laugh, but so much quieter now,
“You’ll never reach it pirate, you’ll never get to the sun, that we can’t allow.”

The glow grew brighter then, the white giving way to a light shade of orange and the broken-hearted man was pulled out of the darkness.
His determined body stiffened, he would out run this storm, he would get to that brightness.

His face was bathed in the warmth of the light, shadows of ropes and beams painted across the deck.
With another breaking wave, the grey pushed away to reveal a clear morning sky, today there’d be no wreck.

Once free of shadow, the rain stopped it’s fall, and though the wet pirate shivered, he was numb to it all.
The sun was barely peeking above the end of the world but it was there, he was almost there, so close, he could just about hear the call.

His scowl lines deepened as the ship sailed on, searching the horizon for even a spec of land thereon.
The wind picks up his rain soaked hair but he’s close, so close, thats all he really cares.

Higher and higher the sun rises in the sky and he can see the land now, it’s right beneath his eyes.

The thunder is wrong he thinks, as he slows the ship, nears the shore.
He can see the sunlight now, in rays of golden blonde, closer just closer, it burns him to his core.

Anchoring the ship in place at the port, the burning heat from nearby sears his skin.
Maybe luck was on his side, he could feel the world spin.

It’s only then that he finally moves, removing hands from the wooden wheel.
Stepping sideways in cold sodden boots he walks towards the warmth so real.

And hopping down onto solid ground, green eyes are the first thing he sees. Oh god that face, that voice, that smile, it brings him to his knees.

The storm in his eyes reaches a peak and he’s drowning, he’s drowning, he’s drowning.
Then there’s shining silk in his hand, a denim waist pressed into the other, eyes that are so damn grounding.

A softness surrounds him, and arms pull him closer, closer, into the warm.
He’s aware of the damp but the coldness is gone, she’s tugging him closer, he can only conform.

Hot gentle lips touch his own and there’s soft white skin under his hands, this war he’d finally won.
Golden tendrils of hair and bright eyes reflecting sun.

The thunder is so wrong he thinks as she whispers “You’re cold my loved one.” And his voice back is gentle, her hands warming up his fragile heart, “It’s cold without the sun.”

—  ~Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #54
Every young man starting life ought to know how to cope with an angry swan, so I will briefly relate the proper procedure. You begin by picking up the raincoat which somebody has dropped; and then, judging the distance to a nicety, you simply shove the raincoat over the bird’s head; and, taking the boat-hook which you have prudently brought with you, you insert it underneath the swan and heave. The swan goes into a bush and starts trying to unscramble itself; and you saunter back to your boat, taking with you any friends who may happen at the moment to be sitting on roofs in the vicinity. That was Jeeves’s method, and I cannot see how it could have been improved upon.
—  Very Good Jeeves, P. G. Wodehouse

We’re separated, again


Melika » You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place, like you’ll not only miss the people, but you’ll miss the person they, or exactly him, made you feel, and you’ll miss the person you were because of him.. because you’ll never be this way ever again.. maybe someday, we’ll run into each other again, but now, at this moment, you can’t hook your boat to mine, because I’m liable to sink us both «


Alex(ander): “ How am I supposed to find her with all these people here?! M-MELIKAAA!.. Oh no, they get in the train.. but I need to tell her! come on, don’t be such a crybaby, runrunrun! .. but what wagon!? .. WAAIT! MELIKAA!..Melika..wait..


Alex(ander) » Why!? why did I meet up with her again?! but.. her hair, her eyes.. her smile was my favorite part about her. Sometimes I would say stupid things just to see it, but now what?! what am I gonna do now?!.. she was my summer rainstorm, unexpected but pleasant, shining brightly one moment and then storm clouds the next.. you managed to give me life with that look in your eyes, Melika.. we’re separated again «