claraknight replied to your post “After a long-long while I finally have a little bit of time to write...”
If you're up for some villain-side writting, how about Razorbeard and doubt? (avoiding the classic anger because he's literally like this h24) Thank you in advance if you do!
(I don’t think I’ve ever tried Razorface before, so here goes nothing!)
Three masks and counting.
The angry slam of his fist splintered the armrest even more. The messenger was long out of sight, leaving him alone with his anger and a creeping feeling that left every 0 and 1 in his system at edge.
He turned around, glaring out the Buccaneer's window. Far below him lay the lands his loyal Pirates were so busy exploiting for their abundant resources. Up until now, everything had gone swimmingly. Their source of energy was destroying, leaving the inhabitants scrambling and weakened. Their so-called hero had been captured. Pockets of whatever fledgling resistance remained were being routed out one by one.
And then everything began to spiral out of control. All it took was a single prison break, after which not only did that infernal limbless manage to repeatedly ravage his supply lines, but also made strides in awakening whatever force was rumored to protect this planet. Razorbeard had heard tales of this being and while they were sounded like folk tales at best, this wasn't the first planet he'd encountered with mystical qualities. Those were powers even he didn't enjoy trifling with.
The pirate flicked his hand, a screen emerging from the walls to his command. He cycled through the latest report, going through page after page of decommissioned and destroyed pirates. Some that have served him from decades and through assault where even he was convinced none of them would leave un-scrapped. And yet, one by one, they were taken out by that damn, nosey runt. It was maddening, but even more so than that, concerning. The losses were climbing. The supplies were dwindling. The prisoners were growing unruly.
Of course, there was always the possibility of pulling out. Tens of thousands of slaves, a veritable hoard of artefacts, a cargo hold full of precious materials the locals either didn't use or had no idea on how to use. Even with the losses, it would have been a net positive overall. They could fill the ranks at the nearest port. All he needed to do was give the order.
He reached the end of the reports and allowed the panel to fold back into the wall. He would have just needed to give the order. But it was an order he knew he would never live down. All the prisoners and all of the riches wouldn't have made up for the crew he had lost already. He could feel a sense of foreboding in his circuits, but it did not deter him. He could not turn back, not so far into the skirmish.
At this point, it was a matter of principle.
