Welcome back to another Sunday snippet, hosted by yours truly. We’ve got another change of pace from Johanan’s perilous adventure this week. If you happened to miss last week’s snippet, you can find it here to get yourself up to speed: “Sparks of Determination”. And if you’re new here, stick around and check out the first one that started it all: “Dusk”. Lastly, let’s not forget our true hosts, the people over at Weekend Writing Warriors, who make these parties possible. Everyone’s invited to check out writers’ works on the site and get involved in these events. All the info you’ll need to get started is all there for you- now all you need to do is write!
Our change of pace for this week involves some piracy once more. Everyone who commented on the first snippet, “Port”, gave some awesome feedback, and so while I can’t post the entire book (not that I can call a few pages of a prologue a book) in snippet format, I definitely want to see what you guys think of this as a full work and appreciate any feedback!
(Bit of creative editing involved to fit the ten sentence limit).
The Oleander. Named after the deadly plant, and aesthetically fitting for such a name, with a hull black as night and a blood-red gunwale that outlined the outside of the deck. Two rows of three cast iron cannons each – concealed behind wooden compartments at the moment- lined either sides of the vessel. Three masts stood in the center of the deck, sporting large sails as black as the hull. A truly venomous sight to behold, and one Craylar was proud of- he still remembered the poor saps he stole it from years ago, just off the coast of Madagascar. The forty-year-old captain stood before the vessel smiling like a fool as he relived old memories.
No more than a few steps from port stood Mimosa Lounge, a local hotspot teeming with travelers from all walks of life, which Craylar immediately noticed upon entering. Everywhere he looked people sang and danced to the tune of a small band of musicians strumming mandolins and fingering flutes, drunkards lining every table seeming all too happy to raise their drinks to anything, like the crew’s entrance. Smoke stung his eyes, its wisps faintly illuminated by the dimly lit room. Being in exceptionally high spirits that night, Craylar made his way over to the bar and bought a round of ale for his men, who rejoiced and clapped him on the back.