The Corsairs of Umbar

Those fingers in my hair… That sly come-hither stare… That strips my conscience bare… It’s witchcraft!

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For healerofimladris, who requested an edit dedicated to her Haradrim witch OC, Ziyârma.

fabulouswillycartier

Willy Cartier | Duality x MOGA Magazine | ph. Oliver Rust

tenstrangecats

healerofimladris

Young!Ziya back home in the jungles of Far Harad.

#corsair reference #Umbar

The Haven of Umbar

malemodelscene

Reflex Homme by Machado Cicala Morassut

#Akhâs #corsair akhas #face claim

Akhâs

cy-pher

Ziyârma

"Corsairs? All of you? On the same ship? I've hung around with enough Corsairs and, let me tell you, they weren't overly gifted in the face department..." Fara narrowed his eyes over his fourth glass of rum. He suspected witchcraft. "Did you sacrifice someone to Ulmo?"

Akhâs snorted at the young dwarf’s accusations. “You’ve been spending time with the wrong Corsairs, khuzud!” he laughed, slapping the dwarf on the back and grinning. “The Corsairs of the Agân-Arî are the most successful in all the Havens. We just smile at them and they fairly well beg us to take all their valuables in exchange for the delight of our company!”

Khô’azad aimed a smack at the back of the blue-eyed corsair’s head. “Fool of a sea-dog,” she grunted. But Akhâs just grinned at his captain irrepressibly, seemingly unabashed.

Fara slumped forwards, resting his head on his forearms. He counted the long seconds of nausea that rushed over him, once or twice almost rising from his seat for a quick exit.

"Water?" he whimpered, wincing as he felt his stomach turn to mush, painfully twisting inside of him. Had he not been not on the verge of puking, he would have knocked his thick head against the table for being such an idiot- there was no doubt that word of this would somehow get back to the Nazbukhrin, and he could hardly walk back there himself. He would certainly not have any of the Corsairs clean him up, and much less Akhâs or his pretty-boy…

He felt, after a minute, that he was sure nothing would happen, and raised his head, resting it to the side. The table was nice and cool, and he closed his eyes for a minute.

"Captain…" he mumbled, eyes creaking open in a moment of panic, "I… I can’t remember where the ship’s moored."

Letting out a little huff, the dwarf raised a hand and placed it over his face, blocking out the light from the tavern for a moment’s peace. “The rum was stronger than I thought,” he finished apologetically.

#ooc #out of port #blog maintenance

Khô'azad snorted. She was less than impressed with any captain or crew who'd let a raw youth like this one go drinking alone in a strange port—and less than impressed with any raw youth who'd drink so much he forgot where his Avalôim-anaîkkha ship was moored!

Taking just the tiniest bit of pity on the dwarf, she plonked a glass of water in front of him. “Your ship’s in the harbor, khuzud. Where’d you think?” she laughed, a bit disingenuously. The harbor was a very large place, after all, and drunk as he was, the dwarf was more likely to fall into the brackish water and drown than actually find the right gangplank.

Akhâs patted the dwarf’s shoulder briefly. “We’ll get you back, if you can trust a corsair this pretty, enh? Promise not to steal all your gold!” he declared, pressing one hand to his heart earnestly—though his mischievous grin made his sincerity hard to read.

Behind Akhâs, Ziya glared at the dwarf. Seeming to fight with himself for a long moment, the witch finally reached into his pouch and withdrew a small vial, setting it in front of the nauseous dwarf. “Drink,” he said shortly.

Akhâs shot his partner a surprised look. He recognized that vial; it was Ziya’s own personal remedy for nausea, containing ginger and various other soothing herbs. The witch kept his secret well; when the ship was at anchor, Ziya suffered from sea-sickness that the open sea did not provoke. The vial he’d just pushed toward the dwarf would have been his own dose, meant to be drunk down just before returning to the ship for the night. A warmth suffused the blue-eyed corsair at this kindness, and he kissed Ziya’s cheek lightly.

"Do as my lady says," he advised, turning back to the dwarf. "Won’t taste all that great but it’ll settle your guts right up."

#dwarfofthewaves

((Hello, new followers! Just a reminder...this is a shared side-blog run by two different muns! We can't send asks from this account, so we will send them on anon and specify thecorsairsofumbar as the sender.

In addition, you can usually tell which of us (beruthielthequeen or theharadrimbrothers) has made any specific post by looking at the profile picture icon associated with the post. There is a little sub-icon which indicates which blog-owner made that post.

Otherwise, if it's Ziyarma and/or Hazaim talking, you've got theharadrimbrothers posting. If it's Kho'azad or Akhas, that's beruthielthequeen.

Welcome to the ship!

"Corsairs? All of you? On the same ship? I've hung around with enough Corsairs and, let me tell you, they weren't overly gifted in the face department..." Fara narrowed his eyes over his fourth glass of rum. He suspected witchcraft. "Did you sacrifice someone to Ulmo?"

Akhâs snorted at the young dwarf’s accusations. “You’ve been spending time with the wrong Corsairs, khuzud!” he laughed, slapping the dwarf on the back and grinning. “The Corsairs of the Agân-Arî are the most successful in all the Havens. We just smile at them and they fairly well beg us to take all their valuables in exchange for the delight of our company!”

Khô’azad aimed a smack at the back of the blue-eyed corsair’s head. “Fool of a sea-dog,” she grunted. But Akhâs just grinned at his captain irrepressibly, seemingly unabashed.

"Dun’ need a bucket, handsome," Fara said, trying his best to ‘look sober’, a look he had practised for years in attempt to convince a captain with almost a hundred years’ worth of sailing experience. This comprised of leaning his elbow on the table casually and resting his chin on his knuckles with a dazzling smile: Fara missed the table with his elbow, missed his hand entirely, and his face collided with the table-top with a resounding thunk.

After a darkness of a few seconds, Fara had regained sight enough to grab wildly at his glass, and he sipped at the rest of his drink quietly. It had confusingly become less since he’d last drunk it, and he pondered for a moment if any of the Corsairs had replaced it with a new one. Must have been the witch.

"With all due respect, captain," Fara drawled, as he always did just before something that would have gotten him a clout back home came out of his mouth, "Varhi’s got more meat on you. They both have. Granted, my adad’s not as big as some other captains you see about, but they could drink about twenty times as more as was is you can!"

Westron began to fail him, and he could feel himself mentally slipping into Khuzdul. He silently swore at himself as his eyes watered suddenly, and he grabbed his knees, doubling over and praying to Mahal-

The bucket Akhâs had called for suddenly didn’t seem such a bad idea.

#ziyarma #hazaim #dwarfofthewaves

Hazaîm nodded at his captain and took a step back from the situation. He knew the dwarf was no real threat to Khô’azad, yet he would not stand still when his captain was harassed. His own threat to the young dwarf however had not been serious at all, but instead just a fair warning that he should be aware of what was proper and what not. The old sea dog was not foolish enough to start a useless brawl at the inn.

Ziyârma, however, did not cease to shoot daggers out of his eyes. He was possessive, that was given, and he’d rather pluck the dwarf’s eyes out of his head than have him look at his lover with that utterly stupid, enamored look. Like a snake ready to strike he wanted to hiss his warning to him, but did nothing. The others around him knew how to put out the flaming anger in his heart. What with Khô’azad coming to his defense with her flattering words! Ah. It brought a smug smile on his face.

A smug smile that was wiped off his face as soon as he too realized the dwarf might not last long with all that rum inside him. Many said the drink was divine, but that rarely was the case when it came back to greet the greedy drunks again. Hoping to protect his skirt from any possible mess, Ziya stepped behind Akhâs and wrapped his arms around the man’s waist. There may have been a hint of sympathy in the look he threw in the dwarf’s direction. ”Might be too late for a bucket now, khuzud. Clearly you’re no match to your relatives.”

Khô’azad

#Khô’azad #face claim #//dang but if this lady ain't naked 99% of the time #//or partially naked at least #nsfw?#almost?

Ziyârma

"Ziyârma watched Berúthiel closely and did not bother turning his eyes away from her when she noticed him. For a while longer his eyes stayed put until he then slowly made his way to her. His hips swayed from side to side as his elegant, but confident steps led him to her. "Still haven't learn to love the sea, I take it?" (thecorsairsofumbar)

Berúthiel stood on the swaying, heaving deck of the ship as firmly as she could manage. Her hands were locked on the rail, skin around her knuckles slightly pale with the force of her grip. Her knees were locked and her back was held straight as a razor’s edge, chin level and eyes resolutely fixed on the sea. Naîka, how she hated sailing! She would become accustomed to it again, as she always did—but nothing had ever made her love it—not even Ji Indur had managed that. The eyes on her back made her even more determined not to faint or scream or run for the cabin where at least the salt-scent was muted by other smells—but turning, she found Ziyârma watching her. The other witch was far too perceptive and she knew he’d already noted her discomfort.

"I prefer the Sea of Sand," was all she said through her half-numbed lips.

Berúthiel stepped back, letting her hands drop away. There was no easy answer to the corsair witch’s dilemma, no course of action which was without its danger and dismay.

"Ziyârma," she said quietly. "Only you may make this choice, in the end. Akhas could die in the jungle, yes. He could also die here on this ship, tomorrow, or any other day. There are many dangers in life, and we cannot avoid them all. Neither path will be easy for you, or for him. If you go to your homeland, you must face whatever awaits you there. If you do not—you must face this discontent and this—this sense of something incomplete, something missing. What will be worse? Which monster is the fiercer? You know the answer in your own heart and mind. But you must allow yourself to see it, and to choose it."

#ziyarma #beruthielthequeen

He was starting to doubt himself again. A moment ago the choice had seemed easy to make: of course he was going to take Akhâs to see his homeland. But now? Now the amount of what ifs was clouding his mind again, making him worry, making him fear for what might happen. Akhâs' life was too precious, way too precious to be wasted because of a whim like this. Ziya knew Akhâs loved him no matter that he didn't know his homeland or his culture through and through. There was no real need for him to see it all with his own eyes.

"I'll have to talk this through with him." He said with a firm nod and jumped off the counter. Heading back to continue what work he had started with the day's dinner. "But luckily now that we are heading across the sea, I have time to make up my mind. It is not a matter of today nor tomorrow." Postponing. Wasn't that what he had done for the past months anyway?

Hazaîm

#hazaim #hazaim faceclaim

"Corsairs? All of you? On the same ship? I've hung around with enough Corsairs and, let me tell you, they weren't overly gifted in the face department..." Fara narrowed his eyes over his fourth glass of rum. He suspected witchcraft. "Did you sacrifice someone to Ulmo?"

Akhâs snorted at the young dwarf’s accusations. “You’ve been spending time with the wrong Corsairs, khuzud!” he laughed, slapping the dwarf on the back and grinning. “The Corsairs of the Agân-Arî are the most successful in all the Havens. We just smile at them and they fairly well beg us to take all their valuables in exchange for the delight of our company!”

Khô’azad aimed a smack at the back of the blue-eyed corsair’s head. “Fool of a sea-dog,” she grunted. But Akhâs just grinned at his captain irrepressibly, seemingly unabashed.

-

Fara couldn’t help but snort mockingly as the witch threatened him with a curse.

“Frightening, witch,” he muttered, glancing up fleetingly at them. Their skirt billowed out around them, and with their face thrown into shadow from the backlight of a tavern ceiling lamp, they looked almost fearsome. Almost.

He should have known better, though, than to touch a captain. Surely, had the tables been turned, a fair few dwarves- Fara included- would have descended on the audacious man with weapons drawn; that would be if Hafar had not dealt with him first.

The more sober part of his brain was clanging an alarm bell so hard in his ear, he knew to listen to it as soon as his wrist was grasped, and he pulled back with a grunt. A flush of shame came over him. Rubbing slightly where the man had held him, the dwarf then staggered for a second, caught off guard by another wave of dizziness, then slumped back into his seat on the bench.

"If you knew who I counted amongst my friends…” he slurred, eyes narrow and flicking from the witch to the large man, and a little apologetically to the captain.

In the moment that followed, he was proud that he resisted the urge to make a size related joke to either Akhâs or his lover. Staring sullenly into his glass, he wondered quietly how his brother always managed to pick up a woman in every town they stopped at, while he himself couldn’t even say ‘hello’ to a good-looking man without being topped up with drink.

"You should hang around with us dwarves more. For faces, sure, you’d probably beat us there: we all look like a barrel of offal. However, there’s no crew alive that can outdrink us." It would have been a little more convincing had he not nearly vomited in his mouth at the same time; but it was true that he’d never heard of a dwarf crew being out-drunk before by any crew of men.

"My father once said he…" Fara swallowed thickly, raising a quivering hand. “‘Pardon me. He once got… he got- got ten barrels of rum off some Gondor rats. Next morning with him and his first mate, there were like… like three barrels left on ship,” he finished with a pout, staring wide-eyed around him for reaction.

Khô'azad put a quelling hand on Hazaîm's arm, but nodded quick thanks to her first mate for stepping in, as was only proper. She could handle herself with one drunken dwarf, though. Hells, she could manage herself with a ship-full of dwarves if necessary! But this fellow--she could reach out and push him off the bench with a single finger right about now, if she'd wanted, and he'd have just slumped to the floor looking confused and belligerent.

"Don't underestimate our Ziyârma, khuzud," she snapped, her voice as brusque as ever but holding, for those who knew her well, a note of fondness for the witch. "He may look prettier than a noble's whore but he's iron and fire and fang beneath."

"Like any good corsair!" Akhâs answered, still grinning, his blue eyes flashing. "Pretty as sin, and deadly as love, that's the crew of the Agân-Arî!"

Ziyârma's lean body was a welcome weight on his lap, but Akhâs was becoming a bit concerned about the dwarf's increasingly green face and slurred, swaying demeanor. He lifted Ziya up and set the witch on his feet, standing also and moving back a step. "Someone needs to get this dwarf a bucket, I think!"

Kho'azad laughed shortly. "Ten barrels become three overnight? What, did they lose the rest overboard? If they hold their drink anything like you, they'd be dead after less than half a barrel shared between 'em!"

#dwarfofthewaves

Akhâs

#Akhâs

"Corsairs? All of you? On the same ship? I've hung around with enough Corsairs and, let me tell you, they weren't overly gifted in the face department..." Fara narrowed his eyes over his fourth glass of rum. He suspected witchcraft. "Did you sacrifice someone to Ulmo?"

Akhâs snorted at the young dwarf’s accusations. “You’ve been spending time with the wrong Corsairs, khuzud!” he laughed, slapping the dwarf on the back and grinning. “The Corsairs of the Agân-Arî are the most successful in all the Havens. We just smile at them and they fairly well beg us to take all their valuables in exchange for the delight of our company!”

Khô’azad aimed a smack at the back of the blue-eyed corsair’s head. “Fool of a sea-dog,” she grunted. But Akhâs just grinned at his captain irrepressibly, seemingly unabashed.

Akhâs laughed at the drunken young dwarf and cast a glance at his partner, the now glowering Ziyarma, his white face-paint stark in the tavern’s low light and the embroidery on his skirts gleaming dully.

"Careful, khuzud, or my lady will put a spell on you!" Akhâs mock-hissed, gesturing at the other Corsair with exaggerated subtlety.

"You sail on the Nazbukhrin?” Khô’azad interjected curtly. “Don’t see many dwarf ships here. How many of you little ones does it take to hoist the sails?” She laughed coarsely, downing her ale in an inelegant gulp.

Fara cast a wandering eye over the Corsair he’d pointed out, who he now believed was trying to burn a hole through him with just his gaze. The dwarf raised his glass and swigged from it in a crude toast, slopping a little down his beard.

Not bad, he thought to himself, and he nodded respectfully at Akhâs.

"Nice paint," he slurred, forcing himself not to finish the sentence with a wink.

He was interrupted by the loud voice to his left, and he winced as he turned to face the captain.

"I’m quite tall for a dwarf," Fara replied primly. "My brother is more than five foot two. And we have pulleys to help- our ship is a carrack more than twice this size!" Fara cursed as he knocked the rest of his rum onto the table with a flourish, after demonstrating with a wide sweep of his hands just how big his ship was.

"Really, really big. Really big. Bigger than yours!" he said, jabbing a finger at the captain’s arm.

#ziyarma #hazaim #dwarfofthewaves

For a good while Ziyârma had been following the lighthearted conversation between his partner and the drunken dwarf. At first it had all seemed harmless but - well - not many could resist Akhâs’ charm and clearly this dwarf was one to have fallen under his spell. Sometimes Ziyârma could not help but wonder which one of them was the actual witch.

His heart swelled when he heard Akhâs refer to him as his lady. It was the dwarf’s luck that the corsair was so attentive to his lover. The witch himself was less forgiving to all who made an attempt on his man.

Ziyârma stood up when he saw the wink and stalked across the room towards the two only to sit astride on Akhâs’ lap. He glared at the dwarf before claiming the corsair’s lips, thus making it very clear to whom the man belonged. “A spell, Akhâs? Nay. A curse!”

Hazaîm followed, unimpressed as the dwarf boasted about their vessel. Taking a good swig of his rum, he decided not to interfere - that was until Fara’s hand made its way a little too close to the captain. That wouldn’t do. He stepped closer and grabbed his hand with little change to his face. His grip wasn’t tight enough to inflict pain, but it made a point. No one jabbed their captain.

"As a dwarf you should know that size isn’t what truly matters! It is what’s on the inside and like said, there is no crew like that of the Agân-Arî:"

"Ziyârma watched Berúthiel closely and did not bother turning his eyes away from her when she noticed him. For a while longer his eyes stayed put until he then slowly made his way to her. His hips swayed from side to side as his elegant, but confident steps led him to her. "Still haven't learn to love the sea, I take it?" (thecorsairsofumbar)

Berúthiel stood on the swaying, heaving deck of the ship as firmly as she could manage. Her hands were locked on the rail, skin around her knuckles slightly pale with the force of her grip. Her knees were locked and her back was held straight as a razor’s edge, chin level and eyes resolutely fixed on the sea. Naîka, how she hated sailing! She would become accustomed to it again, as she always did—but nothing had ever made her love it—not even Ji Indur had managed that. The eyes on her back made her even more determined not to faint or scream or run for the cabin where at least the salt-scent was muted by other smells—but turning, she found Ziyârma watching her. The other witch was far too perceptive and she knew he’d already noted her discomfort.

"I prefer the Sea of Sand," was all she said through her half-numbed lips.

“Akhâs is a strong man. Oh, yes—he laughs and he jokes, he flirts and he plays. He seems so young, so soft and even naïve. But you and I both know that’s not true,” Berúthiel said quietly, marking how his hands clenched tight, seeking a cleansing sort of pain. “He is a man grown, and a corsair born and bred and raised. There is nothing about him that is weak. Not physically, not mentally. Whatever waits in those jungles, he can handle it.”

She could almost taste Ziyârma’s anguish in the air, his memories floating like seawrack between them, thick and tangling. It was choking him; he was drowning in it. Deliberately, she stepped forward into his personal space and caught his cheeks in her hands, letting the very tips of her sharp nails graze his cheekbones.

“If you ask him, he will go. He wants your happiness most of all,” she half-hissed, voice intent, trying to slip her words through the clinging vines of fear and guilt and reach him. “My father taught me love makes you weak. But he was wrong, Ziyârma. It makes you stronger. Together with Akhâs, you can face whatever needs to be faced and come out the other side better and stronger than before.”