The Sea Witch's Plow (Sensual and Moist)

ooLife was good on the sea, where the air was brisk and the the warm tropic sun beat down upon the glimmering waves. From Singapore to Dutch territories the rolling ocean was fat with merchant ships, and French and English governors alike were glad to dispense the title of privateer to any with a vessel and the men to steer it towards foreign waters. Strong-armed men, tan of skin and beaten by wave and storm into the rugged shape of masculinity, some young and others grizzled by a veteran's service to the tempestuous sea. They were a sort not seen before or due to be seen again in history, free-spirited above all others, for the yoke of the Navy was cruel indeed and inspired a certain camaraderie, a democratic ideal in those who bucked it off, similar to the code of the musketeers- All for one, and one for all.

ooIt wasn't without cause that such scoundrels were the sordid topic of penny dreadfuls and bodice rippers sold in any port you might care to name, or that the thought of being swept away in a pirate's arms had given more than one comely governer's daughter a fit of the vapors. More than one rapscallion had made himself a better name as a lover than a fighter, and some ships acquired such a pedigree that to sail on them was a badge of honor, the life aboard a tale to bring free drinks and the attention of adventurous ladies.

ooThe Sea Witch's Plow had it's own reputation, perhaps not as glamorous. The galleon had been English, until the crew threw off that collar by common purpose for a life as a privateer - falling in first with the French in the colonies, then the Dutch in fighting other privateers to keep the trade routes clear, then no master at all when the birth of a certain drunken reputation brought them too much infamy for any side to hire. They had, after all, completely forgotten who's side they were on and burned the wrong ships.

ooNow they found themselves employed by private company in smuggling cargo, on lean pay and leaner spirits. A month on the water now and a hold full of liquor, so close yet untouchable by terms of contract, forced to forsake landings and the hedonistic release of shore leave, even avoiding the tender vessels who's paths they crossed under the white flag. There was a tension fit to snap, the need for liquor or women or both that could fully consume a man's mind, with only the fear of the crossing ahead to focus them- For now they sailed the Strait of Teeth, where slumbered the great leviathans of the sea slumbered, where ghost-ridden ships prowled the mists, and where sirens sang men overboard into the hungry sea.

While many a man feared the Strait of Teeth but it was Opal’s home, long ago she’d lost her pact, Sirens usually keeping together to try and taint the minds of men. They were much more powerful in a group to do harm, one Siren on her own was as good as dead. Yet somehow Opal had survived, scavenging off old ships and finding she could also gain sustenance on human food rather than souls. Yet it didn’t bring that same beautiful surge to her, having seen many a ship of brave men go down in seconds. She’s always wondered what they were really like, men, since she’d spent her entire existence in the presence of her own race and only females at that. That curiousness had drawn her to watch over a particular boat having the pleasure of riding through quite a desolate path through the Strait of Teeth, pink locks coming into view as her head bobbed up past the water line just enough to let striking yellow eyes survey the boat. Certainly it was pirates, nothing sleek and top of the line like a royals travelling boat or something from the navy, but still a fine travelling vessel.

Long legs propelled her forward towards the boat, following it through it’s slow motion, hiding behind shipwrecks and large rocks, able to swim fast enough with the help of her webs she managed to make it just beside the ship, switching to a backstroke and letting into view a pair of perk plump breasts cared for in a spot of fins, her lovely pink hair waving around such a pretty supernatural face with the water making it dance. Reaching the side of the ship she managed to grip onto one of the laced ropes, propelling her curvaceous form up before climbing it like a latter up to the side of the ship. She shivered slightly from the lack of water touching her form now, webbed fingers curling over the edge of the ship, surveying the area she let her finned ears pick up whatever the traveling pirates might be talking about on deck. Cautiously she shifted over to where a pile of boxes were placed, gingerly pushing her body over the side of the ship before her webbed feet hit the deck. Today she’s study these humans instead of relinquishing them of their souls, peeking from behind one of the crates to watch the manly men go about their business in awe, finding herself already mesmerized at how hard the crew seemed to work with all those impressive muscles.

With a man approaching Opal became alarmed, ducking back and hiding her womanly form in the shadows of the crates, hoping he wouldn’t noticed their recent stow away, after he’d passed she proceeded to peek out, not thinking he might come back from where he was going. More interesting in spying more, her long form was quite defenseless if it wasn’t for her singing abilities, she had round lovely hips, a perk firm ass and long powerful legs from hours of swimming. Long helpful fins jutting out from her upper arms and just over her elbows for support in the water, at her hips more fins protecting her tenderest regions, a simple strip of cloth dangling just over her lower hips and reaching to cover her plump ass and between her legs. It was a striking violet color with little tangles of red stones off the sides of the cloth, matching the gold stringed necklace with a red ruby hanging just between her plentiful bust. Gaining some courage she left the crates, slipping to the side of the wall where the stairs led to beneath the deck, her hands touching the surprisingly smooth wood, trying to keep her feet from making to much of a wet clap against the deck, the jewels on the wrap around her hips jingling as they shook with her movements, making her bite that plump pink bottom lip in a hope they didn't notice the peeping nymph.

ooThe captain walked the deck, and all around him things sprung into activity. The crew were suddenly quite busy, tying down every cannon that had been allowed to roll unsecured, checking every rope, scrubbing the deck until it shined, for even more than the Captain himself the crew feared the man at his side; Thomas Eddan, the First Mate and the man who cracked the whip. They struck an odd pair - The Captain was tall, lean, his looming stature exaggerated by the sweeping greatcoat that hung from his shoulders, his skin the dark shade and his braided hair the curly black of an Arabian. And he was handsome man yet, despite the thin raised lines of white scar tissue curling across his cheek.
ooEddan, meanwhile, was stout and broad-shouldered, with a bluntly masculine face and wide jaw that brought him just short of good looks, almost canine when he scowled. A short-trimmed crop of fiery red crowned him and peppered his chin, and with his paleness marked him as an Irish man. The sort of strange bedfellows only a naval life can bring.

ooThey bickered as they walked towards the prow. For the Captain, it wasn't a bad day. A bad day would have began at midnight, with the screams of the watch as the monsters of the deep struck at them. A good day was a day he was alive, and as he breathed in deep the salted air, Captain Marco did indeed feel that. But the First Mate wasn't one to celebrate a merely peaceful night. His concern was for the crew, the growing rumblings of discontent, a ship full of left without their pleasures of choice for weeks on end.

And then he did hear the shouts that some small, pessimistic part of him was just waiting for. "Monster! Monster aboard!"

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As the alluring little nymph padded her way down the stairs, unseen by all the men above in their hurry to get the ship ship-shape, the door ahead of her swung open. There was no time to run, the stairwell providing nowhere to hide, as a man lugging a coil of heavy ropes stepped through, and his eyes went wide at the sight of her. A moment of stunned silence, and then he opened his mouth to yell!

ooThe captain walked the deck, and all around him things sprung into activity. The crew were suddenly quite busy, tying down every cannon that had been allowed to roll unsecured and checking every rope, scrubbing the deck until it shined, for even more than the Captain himself the crew feared the man at his side; Thomas Eddan, the First Mate and the man who cracked the whip. They struck an odd pair - The Captain was muscular and tall, his looming stature exaggerated by the sweeping greatcoat that hung from his shoulders, his skin the dark shade and his braided hair the curly black of an Arabian. And he was handsome man yet, despite the thin raised lines of white scar tissue curling across his cheek.
ooEddan, meanwhile, was stout and broad-shouldered, with a bluntly masculine face and wide jaw that brought him just short of good looks, almost canine when he scowled. A short-trimmed crop of fiery red crowned him and peppered his chin, and with his paleness marked him as an Irish man. The sort of strange bedfellows only a naval life can bring.

ooThey bickered as they walked towards the prow. For the Captain, it wasn't a bad day. A bad day would have began at midnight, with the screams of the watch as the monsters of the deep struck at them. A good day was a day he was alive, and as he breathed in deep the salted air, Captain Marco did indeed feel that. But the First Mate wasn't one to celebrate a merely peaceful night. His concern was for the crew, the growing rumblings of discontent, a ship full of left without their pleasures of choice for weeks on end.

And then he did hear the shouts that some small, pessimistic part of him was just waiting for. "Monster! Monster aboard!"

----------

As the alluring little nymph padded her way down the stairs, unseen by all the men above in their hurry to get the ship ship-shape, the door ahead of her swung open. There was no time to run, the stairwell providing nowhere to hide, as a man lugging a coil of heavy ropes stepped through, and his eyes went wide at the sight of her. A moment of stunned silence, and then he opened his mouth to yell!

ooThe captain walked the deck, and all around him things sprung into activity. The crew were suddenly found all ways to be busy, tying down every cannon that had been allowed to roll unsecured and checking every rope, scrubbing the deck until it shined, for even more than the Captain himself the crew feared the man at his side; Thomas Eddan, the First Mate and the man who cracked the whip. They struck an odd pair - The Captain was muscular and tall, his looming stature exaggerated by the battered greatcoat hanging from his shoulders, his skin the rich brown of an Arabian. A handsome man yet, despite the first strands of gray intruding on his curly black hair and the thin lines of scar tissue curling across his face.
ooEddan meanwhile was pale and red-headed - an Irishman to the core, with temper to match. Built low and stocky, his face had a certain bluntly masculine appeal, but a broken nose stopped him short of good looks and lenses something almost canine to his scowl.

ooThey bickered as they walked towards the prow. For the Captain, it wasn't a bad day. A bad day would have began at midnight, with the screams of the watch as the monsters of the deep struck at them. A good day was a day he was alive, and as he breathed in deep the salted air, Captain Marco did indeed feel that. But the First Mate wasn't one to celebrate a merely peaceful night. His concern was for the crew, the growing rumblings of discontent, a ship full of violent men left without their indulgences of choice for weeks on end.

ooAnd so they argued. Right up until the yell split the air, sounding the warning every soul aboard had waited in dread for. "Monster!"

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ooAs the alluring little nymph padded her way unseen between the crates, all the men too busy to spot the slender creature sneaking among them. If their muscles appealed to Opal, there was plenty to hold her attention, for in the spray of water and under the oppressive sun their bare, chiseled chests gleamed with sweat as they worked. But as she slipped down the stairwell, the door ahead of her creaked open- and there was no time to run or space to hide in.
ooA young lad stepped through the door lugging heavy ropes coiled over his shoulder. His eyes widened as he spotted the nearly naked girl before him, then a second later the fins sprouting from her bare flanks, and he opened his mouth to shout the alarm. "Monster!"

Among the rugged, handsome men gathering on the deck, two certainly stood out at their arrival, the many men going about their business and trying to look at bust as possible. Her yellow hues studied the tall captain and his stocker, rougher looking pal at his side. She’d seen many dark skinned black haired men in these parts, but such a pale red haired man struck her as odd. The naive creature thinking he must be another species of some kind? He looked formidable and the entire crew seemed to respect their presence, were they the leader of this pack?

Listening to their bickering and complaining for a while, curious to just study what used to be considered food to the monster girl. Trying to hide in another place to get a closer look at the men she didn’t notice the lad slipping through the door at the end of the staircase, feeling her body run cold at the his voice. Snapping her head to look down the stairs before perking up to the opening up above on deck, “Ah!” She squeaked out of fright, seeing men start to come their way, hurrying to climb back up the stairs and somehow reach the water. Her heart froze, no doubt they were all approaching from where the boy had screamed and now she had little option to find a clear line to the water surrounding them on the boat.

Of course Opal did still have her voice, if it proved really dangerous she could try to woo them - But usually men jumped overboard into waters, her songs save men a gigantic urge to feel, touch and experience the mysterious siren in all types of ways.. She stood tensed in fear, her pretty figure and strange skin, scales and eyes on display, against the pale-ish color her pink hair stood out immensely. Cautious yellow eyes blinking with uneasiness, stepping back slightly as she’d found her options of running into a crowd of strong men not a very good idea. Alone she could only enchant a couple of them, not a expert of her craft either, specially when she was so nervous.

(Sorry about the delay, should I have her understand english or perhaps theres a language barrier there? XD)

ooThe pirate lad dropped his cargo and chased her as she ran, up the stairs and onto the chaotic mess of the deck. Sailors ran this way and that, trying to cut her off from diving over the sides or heading up the rigging, calling out the clear waters - the lack of other nymphs waiting to sing them to their doom. In the rock and away of the ship and the confusion of the men she very nearly makes it back to the waters. Nearly.. A heavy net lands across her just as she slips away from another sailor's grasp, the weights tangled around her legs and the snare twisting up around her.

ooA cheer went up as she fell, the pirates gathering in to take their first real look at what's washed up aboard. Whistles and muttered obscenities make their way through the crowd as they drink in the monstergirl's curvy features, her soft, unclothed flesh bared to their every imagination. She might catch a few scraps of conversation, almost exclusively devoted to just what each man would like to do with her. And after so long at sea, my, those pirates had gotten very creative.


ooBut the crowd parts as the Captain stepped forward, his First Mate shoving aside those too busy ogling their captive prize to notice the officers approaching. The tall mean leans down, carefully studying the nymph caught in his net, his eyes calm and icy blue - but still, tinged with the same hunger on every face. Oh, she was a fine little prize for a man with so many troubles in need of... relief.
oo"Can you speak our language, girl?" His eyes raked up and down her naked form, the little strip of cloth between her legs less than useless against his lustful gazes. His hand was on his sword still, but the Captain showed no anger towards her, no intent to hurt... The little monster was quite cute up close. Hard to imagine her as the same sort who's songs had claimed so many sailor's lives.


((I think not have her not understanding English would end up being more trouble than fun.))