Untitled, but it's about PIRATES.. eventually (: « Thread Started on Sept 30, 2007, 12:25pm »
So, although it is nowhere near finished [I only started chapter one last night in my notebook] here's what I've got so far. Constructive criticism highly appreciated.
NOTE: I'm awful with names, & haven't decided on one for my lead female character. For now she's put down as ---. Classy, eh? So any ideas for an 18th century name would be awesome. Below are some truly, truly AWFUL webcam images. Heck, prooves I wrote it. LOOK! Little picture of Whitby & ---.
Chapter One
The island of Mikipi was a small one; invisible by a map and located on the outskirts of the Caribbean ocean, though the inhabitants were surprisingly civilised, what with English being its mother tongue and having so many - though restricted, as one had to know the exact whereabouts - foreign tradesneighbours from all over the world. It so happened that The Grand Duchess, a fine merchant ship, was pulling into harbour early afternoon, receiving a warm welcome from the villagers and townspeople alike. The community was a pleasant one, and on this particular occasion the governor had come to greet those aboard, though this was an influenced act; Governor Whitby knew the wealthy English merchant now striding towards him - arms outstretched - immensely well. "George Whitby, how long it has been since we last met!" Sir Thomas Ravencroft exclaimed, and the two old friends embraced, having not seen each other for a few years since Ravencroft’s last trade. "Too long, Thomas, too long! Oh, but who is this?" Whitby replied in awe, as his eyes were fixed upon a young woman descending the passenger plank, assisted by two sailors carrying her luggage. They were laughing merrily; apparently the girl had just told them something highly amusing, and she was laughing too, her attractive face lit up with joy. Ravencroft looked surprised, "Why, George, surely you remember my daughter, Ella?" Now it was Whitby's turn to be astonished as he eyed the girl he hadn't seen for over nine years, Thomas' daughter of seventeen now approaching them with a flushed sort of smile, the laughter ceased but the after-effect still warming her presence. Her cheeks were pink, her hair - having looked so elaborately neat that morning - now windswept and messy; long hair, a sort of copper-caramel colour, tumbling over her shoulders in sweeping curls. It ought to have been bundled up, and Ravencroft was watching his daughter sternly, almost disapprovingly. Nevertheless, she greeted them politely. "Father. Governor..." she turned to Whitby, holding the skirts of her lavender-coloured day-dress that brought out her Jade green eyes magnificently and curtsying - she might have been raucous on occasions but she had manners, even if she rarely chose to use them. "How lovely a creature you have become, my dear." Whitby took her hand and bowed low, kissing it lightly before straightening up and releasing it. He remembered the skinny little wild child who couldn't keep her dress clean for more than a few minutes. She would frequently challenge Whitby to a wooden sword duel, and was fascinated by his own real weapons. Whitby knew Sir Ravencroft was often concerned for his daughter’s unusual obsession with such outspoken antics. She was never quite like the other little girls; graceful and well-mannered young ladies they would be now. Her hair - so carefully wound into plaits by her mother each morning – would always be unravelling. Smiling dimly at the memory, Whitby suddenly remembered Elizabeth Ravencroft - Thomas' recently deceased wife and Ella's mother. Deciding it would be more appropriate to perhaps give Thomas his pity later, he continued to Ella, "Have you changed much?" "I should certainly hope not," Ella's lips curved into a mischievous grin, but catching the look on her father's face she added, "I shall behave myself in your company, sir." In truth, Ella's father was still irritated after the incident aboard the Duchess. He had caught her clambering across the ship's prow to the figurehead; a young woman set out in carefully carved jewels, which was based on a true Grand Duchess. Benjamin the powdermonkey had spotted her sprawled out across the bowsprit, running her hand over the figurehead's smooth wooden curls. Fearing she would fall despite the calmness of the water, Ben had hastened to tell Sir Ravencroft. Ella nearly did fall in shock as her father's voice roared her name. Returning meekly to deck, she had been given a lengthy lecture about safety, scorned for her foolishness and reminded that she was seventeen, not seven. He had regretted bringing her along the moment she had stepped aboard from Portsmouth, and his adviser had leaned in and muttered, "They say it's dreadfully bad luck to bring a woman on-board, Sir." "Perhaps, Morton, but I cannot bear to leave my daughter alone now her mother is not here to mind her." Phillip Morton shuffled away awkwardly. The knowledge of Elizabeth Ravencroft's death had spread fast. Pneumonia, they said it had been, and the doctor could not save her. Sir Ravencroft was said to have thought his daughter ought to get away from England for a while, thus he had taken her aboard the tradeship to Mikipi.
There, done! At least that's how much I've done so far. Comments? & help with ---'s name would be great!
« Last Edit: Sept 30, 2007, 4:51pm by Mischa Rivera »
Re: Untitled, but it's about PIRATES.. eventually « Reply #1 on Sept 30, 2007, 1:42pm »
I'm pretty much hopeless with names too. There are lots of 18th century names here though: http://www.thinkbabynames.com/search/0/18th if that helps at all. Eeek, I love it so far. I can't think of any constructive criticism, since this is way better than anything I could pull of. Can't wait for more. :]
Re: Untitled, but it's about PIRATES.. eventually « Reply #2 on Sept 30, 2007, 2:13pm »
Yay! Thanks. At the moment I'm debating over Ella, Rebecca & Valencia. 0.0
Whayy, I have some more to add.
“Perhaps you would like to come to the manor to settle an agreement, Thomas?” Whitby announced, rubbing his hands together as he watched the Duchess sailors heave crates and boxes off the ship and onto the stretch of wooden planks that made a dead-end walkway from Mikipi. They leant against them exhaustedly – the journey from Portsmouth had been a long one and they were clearly worn out. Ella was watching them anxiously. “Are the crew to sleep below deck?” she queried aloud, to no one in particular, but clearly expecting an answer from her father. She had ventured down into the crew’s quarters one hot day while the Duchess sailed, hoping for some shade, but had been unpleasantly surprised. She was astounded that a ship as marvellous as the Duchess provided such low manners of comfort for the crew; their beds, for one, were flimsy-looking hammocks too close for comfort hanging from the rafters. It was quite empty as they were all above deck working, and she distinctly heard the rasping squeak of a rat and could have sworn she saw something flitting across the floor out of sight. Needless to say, she didn’t return to lower deck. She had felt rather guilty as she lay in her warm cabin bed that night, protected from the harshness of the ever-changing weather with four sturdy walls around her, a lock on the door and glass-panelled windows. “Yes, Ella,” Ravencroft answered in slight surprise, “where else do you suggest they sleep? In the crow’s nest?” he glanced at Whitby who laughed obediently. Despite the pair being such old friends, Whitby was quite a bit younger than Ravencroft who was in his late forties – Whitby in his early thirties – and he often saw Ravencroft as an authority figure, expected to agree or follow in his footsteps whether he liked it or not. Perhaps that was the reason Whitby had left England. He had been highly respected upon finding Mikipi, and when elected Governor it was he who transformed the once shabby island into a thriving civilisation. “Perhaps Miss Ravencroft would like to explore the town while we go up to the manor?” Whitby suggested, gesturing across the island, indicating the enormous house at the very top of the many layered hill, visible even at such a distance. Ella turned to the crew; they reluctantly seized crates and boxes once more and followed the two men, neither of whom waited for Ella’s answer. If it had came, it would have been indignant; Ella would have liked to see the manor properly. Nevertheless, she followed her father and the governor the distance of the walkway until they reached the sturdy stone roads of Mikipi. When Ravencroft and Whitby turned right to ascend the cobbled street ascending the hill, Ella went left, staring around at the fascinating new place, for she had never before left the smoky, grey streets of Portsmouth. Apparently, turning left had directed the young woman to the poorer side of town. She passed peasant women with brimming baskets in their arms; small, scruffy children chasing one another between the shabby houses; men going about their daily jobs, some hammering steel beneath the tattered blacksmith’s stall, others taking the townspeople in horse-drawn carriages through the short-cut that was this little town, back towards the wealthier side. Despite the civilised – though admittedly rather shabby in these parts – society, there was the distinct island-feel of Mikipi. Large palm trees still towered over the streets, the waves crashed or lapped – depending on the weather – against the stone boundaries surrounding the lower roads. Most of the civilians were coloured or at least darkened by the scorching sun, and Ella felt rather out of place.
« Last Edit: Sept 30, 2007, 4:52pm by Mischa Rivera »
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At the moment I'm debating over Ella, Rebecca & Valencia. 0.0