The Age of Void Dragons

Horus: The First Mate

-ABOARD THE GOLDEN HIND

"Commander Drake? We've powered up our offensive weapons. Should we engage in full?" A mechanical servant scuttle over to his master, the skull piece of his mask clacks and grinds out his request. His voice travels in a benevolent manor, very gentlemanly, extremely humble and tuned to ultimate subservience. Hundreds of tendrils and coils bob his face-plate left and right as he scurries to his master's side like a faithful pet. The first mate stands upon a writhing murk of bladed claws and pincers.

Drake waves his finger about the air like a conductor. His phonograph slides at his record. The brass speaker echoes out into his ominous hall. He stands alone in front of a wide view screen. A stream of smaller ships lead in formations of diamonds in the near by space, no ship is in front of Drakes but each awaits in it's own formation.

Dozens of lighter warships linger in loose groups of three to six while larger vessels are escorted by ten destroyers each and to match his foes, he's brough along two additional cruisers.Surely the booty and loot would hide like baby ducks behind the mother. They awkwardly waddle as the mother slows and turns.

The Spanish forces are two heavy cruisers with eight escorts and at least fifty small sensor and anti fighter vessels. Clustered behind the main force is the booty, almost one-hundred cargo ships, each the size of an escort ship, the haul could potentially feed a colony for a day, perhaps arm an entire battleship, or fully load an entire fleet with ammunition.

"Toccata and Fugue D minor, Horus, your thoughts?" Drake asks of his robotic servant.

"You've always had a strange taste, a bit haunting, and rather blunt as the depression goes from low hell and reaches the heavens. It's excellent but I wonder if this track is too foreshadowing for their predicament and our reward, it might spoil the anticipation and the fun. Or it might not. Perhaps the danger of the eerily segments might be worth it as the atmosphere of the music shifts in it's later stages as currency and goods fill our coffers. Honestly I feel their officers would not be amused if this was blasted on their intercom." Horus replies.

"Ah...I see. A honorable explanation as always, and that last bit was extremely tempting, I haven't had guests in a while, my dear Elizabeth would be overjoyed"

"Thank you sir," Horus replies. "I try my best."

Drake rather likes Toccata and Fugue. He'd received these relics of history as an heirloom. The Phonograph is from his side of the family while the song was from his wife's; Elizabeth. Named for the 98th queen in her youth.

"But of the scene here. Think of the harmony and the ruthlessness of the music until it ascends into a great blast of sound. The beginning is still a great blast of sound, but not the same, not as emotionally stirring or as triumphant." Says Drake. "Oh well, the battle is at your command Horus. Make this happen and signal the Horrificis and the York. Phase One: We'll fire the torpedoes now to draw out the AA guns, but make them duds."

"I see where is is going sir." Horus gives a smile through his skull plate. A happy buzz circulates around his limbs and his cogs. hies eyes focus then refocus as the mechanical pupil dilates and retracts.

"Phase Two: Keep the lasers on standby, then activate the laser batteries when they take the bait. They'll fire upon the torpedoes and we'll aim for their guns. Shields work both ways, they'll have to expose their vessel to take an offensive action and surely a Spaniard Captain would never back down from a proper firefight. Phase Three: We'll fire armed Torpedoes with boarding drones directly after when the gun lines are clear, I'll take the point missile and have the torpedoes shielded. Our shield will get absorbed into theirs and they will accept the projectiles like they were a friendly ship." Drake completes his stratagem while corrects the side of his coat.

He wears a traditional navy captain's hat with a long coat. The coat merely covers half his body. The other half is a leather trench coat stitched to replace pieces of it. A collar cuff around his neck extends half way before the folded collar is met with a clean arrangement of shoulder tassels on a gold plate. A single epaulet with blue and red lace with a carved dragon's head sits on his shoulder. On his left stands the drake while his right is the trench coat with and black feathers for tassels on a steel plate. A female face is forms an ornament from the metal with the feathers making wings for the bust of an angel. Silver Angle on his right and the monster on his left.

"Very good choice Commander Drake. Shall I prepare your armor?" The skull faced spider of an uncounted multitude of legs speaks to his commander. His coils, synaptic legs, and tentacles clack and click as an ancient typewriter. His eyes are sharp and motion scanning. His mouth is a microphone surrounded by razor teeth but can quickly shift to harbor a concealed weapon as can the eye sockets.

"Actually change of plans Horus. Have you made a raid this rotation?" Drake inquires. His hand moves down to delicately stop a skipping record off its track located to his right. His hair is dark auburn and covering it is his cocked tricorne. His face is cleanly shaved but his sword sits in his sheath at his side. Hilt of gold, and the weapon itself is extremely deadly.

"I thought you'd never ask sir, I'll prepare my aggressor initiatives. And I'll let you finish your music on board in peace." Horus collapses on the ground as his tendrils and pegs fumble to a still mess of metal. His artificial voice reeks of servant-styled humility towards an oh so perfect master. But not for long.

"HA! Oh, yes, commander Drake! Yes!" The pile of metal stirred and writhed. "Laceration systems online sir, incineration drives are running at full capacity, lust for violation and murder are causing dangerous levels of self-control loss." The skull plate had changed. Where its eyes were lenses, now stood luminescent laser batteries. Each of his arms begin to crank into a blade edge and his arachnid form pulsed red and began to smell foul. Gears and fuel were being burned and churned as exhaust vents out.

"Blood, blood, let me loose Commander Drake, I am thirsty for it!" The voice of Horus had changed; it was deeper and darker, much more maniacal.

"You know Horus, you're such a good friend. You know this track was a gift you know; at my wedding. If you'd be so kind, would you mind loading yourself into the ordinance, then aim for the bridge. Cut the Spanish snake off at the head. You're such a friend." Says Drake.

"What are friends for?" Horus lets loose a low giggle as if no sound could be any more horrifying from the machine that gurgles the sound from its speakers. It snips two of it's pincers and drags a blade along a proverbial throat. The ball of limbs dashes of frantically colliding with the wall and hurling itself down a hole in a shaft for his transportation around the ship.