Word: Leviathan

leviathan

[li-vahy-uh-thuhn]

noun

1. Bible.,  Often Leviathan a sea monster.

2. any huge marine animal, as the whale.

3. anything of immense size and power, as a huge, oceangoing ship.

4. Leviathan, a philosophical work (1651) by Thomas Hobbes dealing with the political organization of society.

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                The deck of the ship was filled with activity as the sailors scrambled everywhere. They worked tirelessly to put out fires, struggled to repair any damage, and strived to keep the ship mobile. The smell of smoke and sound of cannon fire was everywhere.

                “Damn it, get this tub turned around!” The captain roared. “Where’s the enemy now?”

                “Which one, captain? There’s still at least four other ships out there.” The first mate replied over the din.

                “Any of them!” The captain said.

The ship rocked as a cannonball hit the side. The captain cursed loudly. Men scrambled to find out which of the enemies had fired on them this time. They were the worst kind of opponents. Small, nimble vessels that could sail circles around theirs. Sure, each enemy only had a single small cannon on it, but when they could avoid all return fire, that was enough. And that was only the enemy vessels currently attacking them. There were several more, larger ships heading steadily towards them, cannons at the ready to do some real damage.

 The captain rushed to find out where the latest attack had come from and he saw something that gave him pause. One of his men, a new hire, was not doing his duty. In fact, the man was kneeling by the side of the ship. The captain felt his jaw clench. He stormed over to the idle man.

“Listen here, you damn lazy bastard, get moving or else I’ll strap you to the side and make sure you take enemy fire for the rest of us!”

The man did not respond. By now, the captain was close enough to hear that the man was holding a small object and speaking. It sounded like a prayer.

“—who is guardian of the sea. He who watches over the waves, both above and below.”

The captain could understand praying to a higher power, but that could wait. A few choice words to some religious figure would not help them avoid sinking. The captain kept his march steady towards the praying man. All the while, the sailor kept his prayer steady.

“I, your humble servant, beseech your protection from harm. Those who would besmirch your ocean and cause harm to those within it.”

Another cannonball hit the ship. This one came from the front. The captain paused to bark out a few more orders to the sailors who were willing to work. The prayers of the man were getting louder and faster.

“I offer you this token to show my oath, my service, and my dedication.” The praying sailor tossed the object he held, a large coin, over the side of the ship. “I beg your aid now, in my time of need. Please, come forth, oh mighty Leviathan!”

                The captain paused. Something happened when the man said that name. An echo of...something issued forth from the man’s mouth. A stillness came over the wind and waves. The captain was not sure if he imagined it or not, but it was like even the enemy ships had paused.

                And then the ocean erupted.

                A massive column of water burst upwards, taking one of the smaller attack ships with it. The craft shot into the air before dashing against the waves. A vast shadow moved under the water. Bigger than any whale, it moved like a serpent under the water. A massive, monstrous head emerged under one of the attackers, jaws large enough to swallow the small ship whole enclosed around it.

                The sailors stopped to watch the sight. The beast’s scales were the color of the ocean at night. Fins larger than sails emerged from its back and teeth larger than swords lined its mouth. Yellow eyes larger than any man roved the battlefield. The enemy ships, both large and small, were doing the sensible thing and turning to flee. The man who had apparently summoned the massive beast was bowing with his head to the deck of the ship.

                The sea serpent slid back under the water. Another small ship was destroyed, this time by a large fin that rose up under it. The fine cut through the wood as effectively as a blade. The final small vessel was destroyed by the massive beast’s tail, which rose up in front of it and came down like a hammer.

                The larger ships were still in the process of turning when the beast’s attention turned to them. They only lasted longer than the smaller ships by virtue of being father away. It took only minutes for all of them to be sunk.

                Once the task was done, the sea serpent rose, looked at their ship for a moment, and faded into the water as if it was never there. The captain’s heart raced as he carefully looked over the side of the ship, where he saw nothing but the water.

                “The request fulfilled, the boon given.” The sailor said in prayer. “The offering made shall be given, the oath completed, upon my return to that which I call home. I give my thanks to great Leviathan, guardian of the sea and all the reside there.”

                The prayer finished, the man rose. He turned and faced the captain, who stared at the man with an open mouth.

                “All finished there, captain.” The man said. “If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll be getting back to my duties now.”

                The captain stared for a moment, shook his head, cleared his throat, and addressed the man as if nothing had happened.

                “Very good. See that you do.”

                The man went about his tasks without a care in the world. The captain, all the men on board, had a list of questions a mile long. Not one of them asked. They had no idea how to even begin asking. How does one bring up the subject of a man able to summon a god?  

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Respect the ocean everyone. You have no idea what might be lurking beneath the waves.  

Word: Panache

 

panache

[puh-nash, -nahsh]

noun

1. a grand or flamboyant manner; verve; style; flair.

   The actor who would play Cyrano must have panache.

2. an ornamental plume of feathers, tassels, or the like, especially one worn on a helmet or cap.

3. Architecture.,  the surface of a pendentive.

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                “Do we really need a bard?” Zain asked.

                The mage looked at the gathered crowd of performers. All of them plied their trade while wearing overly colorful outfits. They sung, spoke and performed with grand, overly dramatic flairs and flourishes. Several of them even had actual feathers in their assorted caps.

                “I mean, between Narra and I, we have everything a bard can do.” The slight man continued.

                The party’s cleric did not respond. She was busy watching the various performances. She was critically assessing each and every one of them. After all, if she was going to be travelling with a bard, she wanted one that was at least skilled enough to be worth listening to.

                “It’s more about having someone who knows how to talk to people.” Caed said. He looked the most out of place with his armor and sword. But nobody was willing to look for long. “None of us are particularly skilled on that front. Or would you trust Narra or me to do that?”

                Zain looked between the two of his party members. The fighter seemed like the type to be good with people, but he had a somewhat slow wit, and anyone reasonably skilled could talk circles around the man. And Narra was only good at talking about things she was interested in. Otherwise, she was practically mute. And the less said about himself the better.

                “Okay fine. We need a face.” Zain admitted. “But I don’t think we’re going to find one here. Most of these people are just normal performers. Any real bard would be using magic to enhance their performance. And I have yet to see a single illusion.”

                “We’ll find one.” Caed said. “If not here, then somewhere else. This is just the best place to start.”

                “Right, right. Can we at least find one that isn’t...like that?”

                He pointed at one particularly flamboyant minstrel. The man wore an outfit where every patch was a different color, and he strummed on a lute without a care in the world. What was worse was that he was terrible at it but did not seem to realize it.

                “Yeah, definitely not someone like that. Come on, let’s get looking.” He looked and saw Narra had already wandered off. He shrugged. She was more than capable of looking after herself.

                The mage and fighter wandered through the crowds, looking for any signs of actual magic. They actually did find several. Men and women both who wove illusions into their performance, showing them to be real bards rather than some lesser performer. Some were rejected outright based on a lack of skill or an overly showy manner. Others seemed okay, but were not willing to go out on a highly dangerous journey with complete strangers.

                The two of them were just about to give up when their third party member showed up.

                “Found one.” She said simply.

                “What?” Zain asked.

                “Found one.” Narra repeated. “A bard that’s willing to help.”

                Without another word, the two men followed the cleric. They arrived at a less populated area of the square. There, sitting against a wall was a woman dressed in simple but well maintained clothes. She was not nearly as colorful or showy as the rest of the performers, and she strummed a simple lute. Her eyes were closed and her fingers played over the strings. As she did, small illusory figures appeared, moving and shifting in simple dances that were nowhere near eye-catching.

                “Oh. Oh, she’s good.” Zain said, watching the simple performance. Caed looked at the mage quizzically. “It might not seem like much, but making illusions move like that, and with such detail is hard. Really hard. Especially since she’s also focused on playing her instrument. She definitely knows what she’s doing.”

                “Good enough for me. And you said she’s willing to join us?” The fighter asked.

                “Seems like. Didn’t talk long though.” The cleric replied.

                “Well then, I guess we’d better see what she says. Come on, let’s go.”

                The three of them approached the bard, hoping to have met the fourth member of the party. One who was, hopefully, willing to handle the more social aspects of the adventuring life.

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Don't underestimate a bard. They're tricky, since you never know what they can do.  

Word: Stymie

 

stymie

Sometimes sty·my

[stahy-mee]

verb (used with object)

stymied, stymieing 

1. to hinder, block, or thwart.

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               As far as Stigma was concerned, there were only two types of heroes. Those he liked, and those he didn’t. Oh sure, there were many different classifications of heroes, and dozens of individuals in each one. But he found his classification worked perfectly for his purposes.

               The former type he welcomed. Oh, they would try an stop whatever plan he had. Many times they even succeeded. Or at least, that’s what he let them believe. The heroes he liked were so easy to manipulate that even being defeated by them furthered one of his larger goals. And it was usually the hero’s own actions that caused this to happen. Really, they were a huge boon to Stigma’s operations.

               Unfortunately, he was currently dealing with the second type of hero. This was very obvious from the way the man actually paid attention to what Stigma was doing, and was figuring out what was actually important.

               Like the very important computer terminal containing crucial targeting data. The one that had been disguised as an out-of-date junker computer. The one that had just been reduced to slag by the hero’s energy blast.

               “Do you have any idea what you just destroyed?” Stigma shouted.

               “No, but from the way you’re acting, I’m guessing it was important.” The hero replied as he jetted around the villain’s current base.

               “The data on that computer took me years to accumulate!”

               “Well then, you probably shouldn’t have left it out in the open. I mean, you were practically begging it to be broken.”

               Stigma did not dignify that with a response. He wished he could have hidden that particular machine. Unfortunately, he needed it hooked up to a wider network, which meant he had to leave it out. Not that the hero would care. Instead of saying anything, Stigma launched his own attack. A nano cloud that would be able to do some serious damage to the cursed hero.

               Normally, this was the attack Stigma used to end a fight. Depending on how he used it, it could capture, cripple, or even kill. The only heroes who had come out unscathed were the ones that he wanted to. So it was with immense frustration that this hero did not succumb. He used his infuriating energy blasts to disrupt and disperse the nano cloud, even to the point where Stigma lost control over most of it.

               “Gonna have to try harder than that.”

               Stigma growled. This was the reason he hated this kind of hero. They not only genuinely foiled his plans, but they couldn’t help but taunt him about it. He released a barrage of nano clouds, hoping that if one was not enough, several would do the trick. And, sure enough, the multiple angles of attack seemed to give the hero a hard time.

               That is, until he paused in front of some very sensitive equipment. Equipment that normally, Stigma would not care if it was destroyed. But, of course, this was the one time where it was all actually important. And so it was that he saw an almost comical scene.

               The hero stopped right in front of the equipment. The nano clouds were headed right for him. Stigma slowed them down as much as he could, trying to make them change directions before it was too late. But momentum and sheer numbers go the better of him. A few of the clouds managed to veer off. But others? The hero dodged down. The clouds kept going. Right into the equipment.

               “Oo. That looked expensive.” The hero said as he surveyed the damage. “Hope none of it was important.”

               Stigma felt his eye twitch. He really hated this kind of hero. And this one individual in particular.

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Just a quick little thing here. Nothing much to say about it.