Dover Weir

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Everything posted by Dover Weir

  1. Silent Maelstrom

    As Dover struggled to steer his boat the sea suddenly lurched, a massive wave ploughing through the ship grave yard. It kicked up the stern, flipping the boat on it’s nose. There was absolutely nothing he could do but brace himself as tons of water hammered down on the smaller vessel. The bow dipped, pushed down hard into a ridge of rock that otherwise would have been beyond the boat’s depth. It hit hard, rupturing the hull, the sudden impact throwing Dover forward, through the window. “BULLOCKS!” Was all that went through his mind. Eyes suddenly turned dark, clearly seeing through the water as he quickly assessed the damage of his boat. The bow was completely destroyed, but could he pull it to shore? Difficult to know. He had sustained a head injury, a deep gash along his forehead flowed red, the trauma making it difficult to focus. All he knew was that the Ormen would be sunk if another powerful wave slammed the wreckage into it. Dover breathed in, his lungs instantly adapting to the aquatic environment, as natural to him as the world of air. He needed leverage, even were his strength at full capacity it would be difficult to maneuver a sizeable object in the turbulent waters. He needed something solid, and he saw it, writhing below. Gripping the hole in the hull he pulled with all his strength, stretching for the algae encrusted cable. He kicked to near exhaustion, but he couldn’t reach it, then the distance closed without effort. Another wave was coming! He could feel it. As the mass of water was drawn to the sea Dover pulled the wreck away from the Ormen. There was rope in the hold but he wouldn’t have time to moor it before the wave hit. He dug his fingers into the broken hull and looped an arm around the cable. The wave struck, thousands of pounds of force bearing down. The hull buckled, but held, the formorian’s muscles burned from the stress until at long last the pressure subsided. The wreckage safely tethered, Dover ascended. It was a good fifteen minutes later that he broke the surface of the crashing waves, waving to the captain of the Ormen. It was more of a polite gesture than anything. The formorian could have easily survived in the sea but then the witness would have only been lead to assume that an officer of the law had drown. It was best to avoid such complications. “Over here!” Dover shouted, awaiting a rescue.
  2. Silent Maelstrom

    Dover threw the engines in reverse. First instinct was to run the name through the database but the system was down due to the storm. [dover]This the harbour patrol.[/dover] Dover formally announced, momentarily pausing for any sudden movements but visibility was poor. Just then a massive wave slammed against the stern of his craft, pushing it dangerously close to the Ormen. [dover]SHIT![/dover] He exclaimed, driving hard to starboard and into calmer shallows in the wind shadow of a rusted out hull. Visibility was getting worse, the Ormen was barely three boat lengths away and he could barely make it out. [dover]How many in your crew? Over.[/dover] Cut backs meant the harbour patrol had to stretch their man-power, meaning not everyone boat could have a full crew. Dover liked to work alone, so he volunteered to solo it, unfortunately being a lone wolf on the sea left one vulnerable. [dover]I need to weather this storm. Over.[/dover] He noted that the Ormen wasn’t bouncing around as much but couldn’t tell if there was enough room to anchor two boats safely in close proximity.
  3. Silent Maelstrom

    As repeated warnings of the winter storm continued to air over the radio, sea green eyes, steady and calm, peered through the ice pelted windows of the bay patrol boat. The small craft rolled with the writhing waves of the turbulent sea, nauseating plummets and climbs testing seasoned guts. He’d gone as far as he could but the Turbulent waves writhed and crashed against the hull of the small craft; he had ventured as far as he could. The vast open waters of a raging sea would capsize his boat were he to press on any further. Thankfully, according to the chart, he’d traveled well past the perimeter of the search area. [dover]This is PB-315. No sign of the ‘Devil May Care’. No sign of the ‘Devil May Care’. Over.[/dover] The constable reported. [npc]This is Coast Guard One. Appreciate your assistance. Storm conditions are increasing, recommend port. Over.[/npc] [dover]Roger, that.[/dover] Fearless of those dark fathoms beneath the churning surface of the sea the mariner only now respected the storm as it threatened to capsize his craft. It meant a mark on his record the constable didn’t need, one that could temporarily suspend his licence, if not permanently revoke it. He had to make the coast, it was his only chance, but lying between the certainty of sinking and salvation was an equally deadly obstacle. The Eastern Seaboard had changed. The persistence of vehement storms, lack of security and services had forced much of the population to abandon what was once highly sought after real estate. Beyond the shores of the cities the coasts were all but barren and riddled with uncharted dangers. A wall of wrecks were scattered across the coast of the nearby peninsula. Ships succumbing to the ocean’s wrath, hammered against the rocks or drifting to the shore as sure as elephant’s to their graveyard. Rusted hulls and jagged carcasses of twisted metal breached the surface or lied just below. A hull piercing minefield that had claimed it’s share of victims over the years. Navigating it in a storm was certain doom, but it was the route any seaman who’s ship meant their life would choose. So it would be his. The bay constable rode in with the storm, gentle waves surging into massive swells as a wall of white struck the coast. He couldn’t maintain control as a massive wave threw the smaller vessel over remains of a cargo ship before breaking against the wall of wreckage. The Delta 1150TX ramped off a wave it’s padded hull grazing the dilapidated side of a beached freighter before splashing down into a narrow channel. The sides of two massive ships rose up on either side of patrol boat, calm waters flowing between them. He was safe, or so he had believed. The groan of old metal rose above the wind and the ship that took the brunt of the waves ever so slightly shifted it’s weight. Would that it’s titanic weight move enough to crush him between seemed improbable but the mariner thought not to take the chance, deciding to get closer to shore. The sea was significantly calmer amidst the unnatural break water but visibility was poor. The flurries made navigation difficult, but the mariner persisted, slowly crawling through the seafaring cemetery. The way was oddly cleared of debris, almost purposeful. Perhaps it was. Through the blowing snow the constable could make out the silhouette of a ship moored in a small bay. Another wreck? It didn’t seem so. A salvager perhaps? It was not uncommon to come across these treasure seekers but there was always the question of legality and whether or not they were negotiators or killers. He didn’t have much choice but to find out and so he slowly cruised into the bay, cautiously searching for signs of the crew.