The Midnight Ship (draft part 1)
Inspired by the Exquisite Corpse: "The perfumed elf swapped boots with the midnight ship."
(Thanks to Frasier Armitage, Mariah, Dusan Farrington (@quillspatter) and @squidmicro whose randomised words created this bizarre sentence!)
Plumes of sweetness touched the air.
Something was different tonight.
The scent of the sea rolled around him, bracing. It ran its briny fingers through the breeze, as if seeking out this other, foreign, floral waft – which was gone in an instant.
The sea: it was his anchor. Elgart, bearded, tapping his pipe against the edge of the stern, was a dealer in the Known. Solid objects, cargo that could be weighed in the hands, that had a measurable mass and a practical use.
He sniffed, turning his weathered blue eyes to the fading horizon. Gone were the days when traders of the Unknown were permitted on these shores: elusive wooden boxes containing things which couldn’t truly be boxed. Wishes, dream-casts, bad memories to be thrown overboard in the distant Ocean of Forgetfulness, under an overcast sky so the stars wouldn’t see. The Ship Gypsies – the Shipsies – who were rumoured to still dabble in these trades, making dark deals to glitter their palms with gold; they were gone from this now-respectable port. The managers knew Elgart well enough to leave him to his own devices on a Tuesday night, recognising he was already home, had nowhere to go back to, and that he’d keep an eye open for any illegal or Unknown goings-on.
Elgart’s sneer flashed white in the moon-haze. Tonight, he was the illegal activity.
Out there, not far behind his cargo boat and tethered tightly, was his other vessel, the Midnight. Only when the moon rose to his highest point – not long now – the ship would creak and sway into view.
The woman had come by the tavern yesterday, wrapped almost head to ankle in an indigo cloak, only her nose and mouth sticking out. Even in the smoke-fog, her figure struck Elgart as being strange enough – too strange, for him to be seen talking to, without pricking suspicion. Why couldn’t Unknown traders learn to dress normally, for Pete’s sake? He gritted his teeth under his thick moustache and strode past her, his eyes cast elsewhere, and gave a low flick of this fingers that only she would see. True, if she followed him straight away it might be obvious, except that all the locals were busy laughing at each other’s jokes, and misty-eyed with beer and rum. Better just to get her out of there before they had a chance to notice. It was that formidable directness these strange inlanders had, that no amount of heavy fabric could disguise.
Outside, he turned left and left again, up the side of the building. With only the sound of his boots crunching on the gravel, Elgart began to doubt his little customer had got the message, but he didn’t dare turn until he was under the soft darkness of the trees – where only a tradesman well versed in the secrets of the Unknown would be sure to trace his outline away from the pub’s homely lights.
Finally, by the ancient oak, he turned – and jolted back a step.
“What the – ”
The figure stood less than an arm’s length away. She must have tailed him like a shadow all the way. Not a she, though; the cloak thrown back, Elgart stared into the pointed face of a male elf.
For a few long seconds, measured in heart beats, they stood in silence. Perhaps the creature was giving Elgart the necessary grace for his all too human eyes to adjust. The quiet glow the elf now emitted was a mere shimmer, a silver sparkle, like a handful of distant starlight cast over his skin.
Elgart took a breath to speak, but the soft earth scents of the woodland floor crept into his lungs, touched with a floral perfume. So far from home, or so it felt, without the nod and sway of the sea under his boots, he felt unsteady.
COMMENTARY:
Right. That’s what I’ve got so far. I have some ideas for the rest of it, for a deal that goes wrong, but I would like to hear what other people think first: what you think.
Ultimately, the story must follow through with an interpretation of the Exquisite Corpse result (The perfumed elf swapped boots with the midnight ship). Considering a ship is unlikely to “own” a pair of boots, I’ve taken it that this means Elgart will lose his midnight ship to the elf’s boots in some kind of exchange.
But is it a fair exchange? The way I’ve written it so far, and with what I already have in mind, I’m thinking the elf is going to trick Elgart out of his ship for a pair of worthless boots, but it doesn’t have to be that way. If the elf’s boots turn out to be valuable or magical, maybe it is a fair trade for Elgart – or maybe, if they’re that special, it’ll turn out to be an unfair trade for the elf, and it’s Elgart doing the swindling.
And… Is there room for a sea monster in this story?
Let me know what you think!
Send your feedback in the 'Comments' section near the bottom of the Brainstoryum page - but be quick! I plan to record the show on story feedback very soon.
(Thanks to Frasier Armitage, Mariah, Dusan Farrington (@quillspatter) and @squidmicro whose randomised words created this bizarre sentence!)
Plumes of sweetness touched the air.
Something was different tonight.
The scent of the sea rolled around him, bracing. It ran its briny fingers through the breeze, as if seeking out this other, foreign, floral waft – which was gone in an instant.
The sea: it was his anchor. Elgart, bearded, tapping his pipe against the edge of the stern, was a dealer in the Known. Solid objects, cargo that could be weighed in the hands, that had a measurable mass and a practical use.
He sniffed, turning his weathered blue eyes to the fading horizon. Gone were the days when traders of the Unknown were permitted on these shores: elusive wooden boxes containing things which couldn’t truly be boxed. Wishes, dream-casts, bad memories to be thrown overboard in the distant Ocean of Forgetfulness, under an overcast sky so the stars wouldn’t see. The Ship Gypsies – the Shipsies – who were rumoured to still dabble in these trades, making dark deals to glitter their palms with gold; they were gone from this now-respectable port. The managers knew Elgart well enough to leave him to his own devices on a Tuesday night, recognising he was already home, had nowhere to go back to, and that he’d keep an eye open for any illegal or Unknown goings-on.
Elgart’s sneer flashed white in the moon-haze. Tonight, he was the illegal activity.
Out there, not far behind his cargo boat and tethered tightly, was his other vessel, the Midnight. Only when the moon rose to his highest point – not long now – the ship would creak and sway into view.
The woman had come by the tavern yesterday, wrapped almost head to ankle in an indigo cloak, only her nose and mouth sticking out. Even in the smoke-fog, her figure struck Elgart as being strange enough – too strange, for him to be seen talking to, without pricking suspicion. Why couldn’t Unknown traders learn to dress normally, for Pete’s sake? He gritted his teeth under his thick moustache and strode past her, his eyes cast elsewhere, and gave a low flick of this fingers that only she would see. True, if she followed him straight away it might be obvious, except that all the locals were busy laughing at each other’s jokes, and misty-eyed with beer and rum. Better just to get her out of there before they had a chance to notice. It was that formidable directness these strange inlanders had, that no amount of heavy fabric could disguise.
Outside, he turned left and left again, up the side of the building. With only the sound of his boots crunching on the gravel, Elgart began to doubt his little customer had got the message, but he didn’t dare turn until he was under the soft darkness of the trees – where only a tradesman well versed in the secrets of the Unknown would be sure to trace his outline away from the pub’s homely lights.
Finally, by the ancient oak, he turned – and jolted back a step.
“What the – ”
The figure stood less than an arm’s length away. She must have tailed him like a shadow all the way. Not a she, though; the cloak thrown back, Elgart stared into the pointed face of a male elf.
For a few long seconds, measured in heart beats, they stood in silence. Perhaps the creature was giving Elgart the necessary grace for his all too human eyes to adjust. The quiet glow the elf now emitted was a mere shimmer, a silver sparkle, like a handful of distant starlight cast over his skin.
Elgart took a breath to speak, but the soft earth scents of the woodland floor crept into his lungs, touched with a floral perfume. So far from home, or so it felt, without the nod and sway of the sea under his boots, he felt unsteady.
COMMENTARY:
Right. That’s what I’ve got so far. I have some ideas for the rest of it, for a deal that goes wrong, but I would like to hear what other people think first: what you think.
Ultimately, the story must follow through with an interpretation of the Exquisite Corpse result (The perfumed elf swapped boots with the midnight ship). Considering a ship is unlikely to “own” a pair of boots, I’ve taken it that this means Elgart will lose his midnight ship to the elf’s boots in some kind of exchange.
But is it a fair exchange? The way I’ve written it so far, and with what I already have in mind, I’m thinking the elf is going to trick Elgart out of his ship for a pair of worthless boots, but it doesn’t have to be that way. If the elf’s boots turn out to be valuable or magical, maybe it is a fair trade for Elgart – or maybe, if they’re that special, it’ll turn out to be an unfair trade for the elf, and it’s Elgart doing the swindling.
And… Is there room for a sea monster in this story?
Let me know what you think!
Send your feedback in the 'Comments' section near the bottom of the Brainstoryum page - but be quick! I plan to record the show on story feedback very soon.
