Mikkel Hoest
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mikhoest.bsky.social
Mikkel Hoest
@mikhoest.bsky.social
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Writer and fool
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mikhoest.bsky.social
From: The Fang's Forty 🏴‍☠️

Jenice returns to the remains of a monster, looking for a valuable object.

#writesky #amwriting
#pirates #fantasy
The next day, she remembered the mirror, and that gave her the courage to risk a return to the west coast. She went about this in a sneaky way, going off alone without telling Selvoy, in case he would attempt to talk her out of it. Because he might have succeeded. After what she’d seen that evening, she had no desire to ever go near that spot again. But the mirror was important. It was one she had inherited, the same peculiar way she’d inherited the map in the copper cylinder, both hidden under the same loose floorboard. She’d assumed this was because the mirror was worth good money on its own, but she had never gotten it appraised, on partial account of liking it too much – a choice which now felt foolish. While she had no directions to follow, nor a clear recollection of the path she’d taken to the village, the spot proved easy to find. There was a marker once she reached the beach. A shape several paces away, dark on the white sand. It stuck out. She approached, but her steps slowed when she got closer, reluctance taking hold. The monster’s corpse lay in a slightly different pose than it had. Perhaps the high tide had shuffled its limbs. All the colour had disappeared from its venom-bladders, and most of its teeth had fallen out, leaving a clump of spikes in the sand. The stench was much worse now. Near its head lay the musket, which looked intact, though saltwater had almost certainly damaged its mechanism. The little mirror hadn’t moved at all. It had, thankfully, been dropped far enough onto dry land to keep it from the waves, and the tide hadn’t risen enough to reach it. She picked it up, brushed it clean, and checked for damages. The glass was intact. To her eye, the wood seemed unscathed too. She held it close on her walk back, deciding then to sell it as soon as possible upon her return to Nineway.
October 31, 2025 at 8:38 PM
mikhoest.bsky.social
🏴‍☠️ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝒶𝓃𝑔'𝓈 𝐹𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓎 🏴‍☠️

Two snippets, two hats.

Pirate hat vs. countess hat.

#WIPSnips #writingcommunity
#pirates #fantasy
Snippet 1: Introducing Captain Stauer. An imposing figure rose to his feet. He was a tall man with a large, brown beard, wearing a blue coat and black tricorne hat. Unlike Neil, this man had always seemed capable of being a criminal, though not at all the type to choose such a life. His neatness was the main thing. Nelkingdon’s high society had a fair few presumptions of what pirates were like, and them being a filthy bunch was considered a given. But this man’s beard was well-groomed, his clothes were clean. He’d been soft-spoken, too, and exhibited a humble sort of sophistication. “Countess,” he said, his voice deep, booming. Nothing soft in it. That single word was like iron. This was Captain Bjorn Stauer without his mask. He approached with the slow, lumbering steps of a giant whose weight shook the ground, or so it seemed to the countess’ fevered mind. But she opted not to let him intimidate. That had been an impossibility four days ago, but she found she could do it now. “Captain,” she responded, trying to match Stauer’s confidence, though she discovered there was a ceiling to how hard she could talk. More moss than iron, that response, which made it fall rather short of its intended effect. Snippet 2: Jenice in the mirror Garcie tended to come and go. Not on a whim, but at regular times of the day. She was the only regular visitor, too, which blessed Jenice with the privacy to bathe and change. By late morning, she was in a simple, pastel-green dress; pragmatic, suited for travel. The blue was by far the finest she’d brought along. Digging into the trunk, she rediscovered an item she’d thought lost, but which had apparently been shuffled around with the other clothing. It was a wide-brimmed, light-blue hat, decorated with goose feathers and yellow ribbons. Hers. Not something inherited, but bought by her and customised to her liking. And it changed her. It made her older; not in a manner which made her look worn-down or tired, but wise and experienced, a step up from a mere high-born daughter. Wearing that, she was a proper countess. Still young for one, but otherwise a flawless match for the public idea of a countess, resembling the portrait of one. She put the hat on and found her little mirror. Placing the latter so that it stood against a pair of bottles atop the makeshift table, she tried to pose as if being painted, hands folded, back straight, face locked in an expression of dignified neutrality. Was this the Countess Jenice Cairgleam people would remember? She hoped not, for that woman was a sunburnt, puffy-eyed fool. But there was still a striking quality to her. Unless the fever was clouding her mind with vain self-delusion, a healthier future version of herself, dressed and composed like this, could very well live up to society’s tallest expectations. She could grow old and hard under that hat. This was of course a fleeting fantasy. She couldn’t let herself dream for long before all the uncomfortable little truths reintroduced themselves. By the time Garcie returned, she was back in bed, the hatless once more.
October 26, 2025 at 11:43 AM
mikhoest.bsky.social
Snippet from 🏴‍☠️ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝒶𝓃𝑔'𝓈 𝐹𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓎 🏴‍☠️ chapter 5: Manageable Habits

Bamboozled for the second time, the young countess reflects on her problems.

#WIPSnips #writingcommunity
#pirates #fantasy
It didn’t slow his enthusiasm that Jenice did not pay attention. If anything, that bitter disinterest probably entertained him. Most of Jenice’s indifference was forced up out of spite. She had found the sloop rather interesting before its owner had revealed himself to be another liar. But she was also occupied with thought, trying to wrap her head around the larger picture of her family’s situation. The plan had failed. She did not expect to find any trace of Graham’s sapphires, nor much evidence that the pirates had ever been there. It was a pointless detour. Hope was scarce for the Cairgleam name. Tevar was right about one thing, at least: They’d not see prison. Not with their connections and influence. But something personal was still at stake. The family estate would be lost. If they wouldn’t sell, it would be taken from them by the state to which they remained indebted. And either way, that would be the end of that particular nightmare. But it would bring another end, too. No noble family ever recovered from losing their house. They always assimilated with the common-folk over time, names archived in the history books for students to learn of each house’s rise and fall, and of what name should be credited to each. Jenice would mark the end of hers. Generation after generation would read about this, every single one learning that House Cairgleam fell because she was too weak to maintain their fortune. Some of that could be attributed to her youth. Her father’s death and her mother’s condition had forced her into a position she hadn’t quite been ready for, the title of ‘countess’ normally worn by seasoned ladies. Though she wasn’t that young, either. She was (1/1?)
October 12, 2025 at 10:56 AM
mikhoest.bsky.social
From: The Fang's Forty, a pirate fantasy adventure. 🏴‍☠️

Scene featuring some actual pirates for once, so people might believe me this time.

#WIPSnips #writingcommunity #amwriting
#pirates #fantasy
Ulf Stauer had chosen to slouch in three sacks of clothes. Ever since childhood, he had carried himself with a distinct looseness during calm times, as if to save up all bodily tension for when it was needed. “Just a feeling down here,” he said, much calmer than his crew-mate as he patted his stomach. “A feeling we’re being lied to. That’s all I have.” Leant back in his chair, Bjorn Stauer dragged on his short pipe. He’d always welcomed his brother’s gut’s opinion, given its stellar record. But Neil’s points were inarguable, at least as far as the stones’ legitimacy were concerned. “We’ve dug enough holes in this spot,” the captain said. “I agree with you, Neil, but if we are to keep searching, we need to widen our scope.” On the table – which had once been the wheel of a hay wagon, before being elegantly repurposed by one of the crew’s more inventive carpenters – there was a map of the Skallhartem Archipelago, which was the best they could ask for at their location. The Fang wasn’t really anything. One would be hard pressed to find any shop of goods in which to purchase a map primarily depicting this pointed bit of land, on the grounds that very few had need for it. The whole thing was supposedly wild jungle. Not a single road, settlement or port would necessitate a map dedicated to the peninsula alone. There were maps of Greenbottom, but against the rest of that huge country, its south-most point was barely noticeable. Most Skallhartem maps included nearby territories, however, such as Boudri and (1/2) (2/2) the Fang’s west coast, the latter depicted there in serviceable detail. On the paper, an area was circled which matched the spot Count Graham had marked. A wide estimate had been deemed necessary due to the smaller map’s poor quality. “We have to pick a direction and move as one,” Bjorn said. “Either that, or split up and cover more ground, at a risk.” “Is it a risk?” Ulf asked. “We have plenty of shovels, plenty of guns, manpower. Took less than half of us to fight off the ugly ones last night.” “It’s not just the ugly ones, brother. The clever ones, too.” Though the clever ones could also be ugly, for all he knew. They, these unseen intruders, were just as much a rumour as anything Rough-Head would’ve overheard growing up on the streets. All he knew was that someone had brought that sloop along and tied it down. Someone who liked rum and dried plums. “If we divide ourselves, it gets harder to cover all directions.” Neil looked around the tent, eyeing the barrels, of which only about a fifth still held any water. “We might have to make that division soon, anyway.” “Aye,” Bjorn conceded, “but the current camp’s easier to defend. We know the area. If we split and move, we might get ambushed, hence the risk.” With a stretch, Ulf shifted his position. He looked able to shoot and comfortably absorb any kickback, sitting this new way. A natural hunter, even at rest.
October 11, 2025 at 6:07 PM
mikhoest.bsky.social
From: The Fang's Forty, a pirate fantasy treasure hunt. 🏴‍☠️

Jenice is unlucky enough to encounter a monster, but lucky enough to be armed.

‼Violent scene, be advised.

#WIPSnips #writingcommunity #amwriting
#pirates #fantasy
Jenice was still a long way from the rocky peak when something rose from the waves. Absurdly, her first thought was that she hadn’t thought the water would be so shallow that far out, and that it had to be low tide. That thought came and went in a flash, and then she was stopped. Her legs became led. Paralysis took hold of her. She couldn’t blink. What had laid and lurked, and what now stood, was a grey creature in the very rough shape of a man. It was covered in about a dozen green bladder-like growths, and about six dozen finger-long tentacles, wiggling like worms from an apple. There was a striking asymmetry to its shape, in large part due to it having only one arm, which ended in a massive, blade-shaped claw. Whatever weight this added was balanced by a huge, bulging mass, growing from the shoulder on its opposite side. Its head looked as though it had... (1/2) ...melted half-way. Its mouth was filled with thin and pointy teeth, and above sat a yellow eye – like a lizard’s eye, but different in subtle ways she couldn’t make out. Highlighted at its edges by the setting sun, this wretched thing walked and swayed as if drunk. And then it ran. Seeing this, Jenice awoke from her daze. She reached for the musket and clumsily got it off her back, getting the strap stuck on the neck and hair in her face in a failed attempt to take aim. The monster raised its claw. Its intent was clear. She hurried to get the strap off, unable to talk or breathe or think, tried to aim, thought her form felt awkward, felt wrong, but there was no time. The gap had closed. She pressed the trigger. A loud report made her ears ring, and she staggered back, and it stumbled forward. The claw fell. A sharp line of pain in her left forearm. A dry, ragged roar. She fell, and something heavy tumbled out of the long pocket sewn onto the dress. She leapt to her feet. The monster was down, ink-like blood gushing from a wound in its chest. It still moved. Finally able to scream, Jenice flipped the musket around and used it as a club, beating the creature tender. She punctured one of its bladders, which exploded with a green, foul-smelling ooze, then proceeded to break more. And she didn’t let up. She hit it again and again, over and over as she roared and gasped and moaned, putting all her strength into every swing as to maximise that meaty sound. All the monster’s tentacles lay limp by the end. Its eye had been crushed, leaking a yellow fluid onto the sand, where it mixed with the green and black. And a measure of red. (2/2)
September 28, 2025 at 7:58 PM
mikhoest.bsky.social
From: The Fang's Forty, a pirate fantasy treasure hunt. 🏴‍☠️

Vague context: Jenice wants to make a deal with a vineyard owner.

Pretty satisfied with how the scene reads.

#WIPSnips #writingcommunity #amwriting
#pirates #fantasy
“Think nothing of it,” Valera responded. “I am honoured to house an esteemed person such as yourself.” “How generous of you to think so, even after all I told you.” Too much, some would have said. Her mother, probably. Her father? Undoubtedly. And Jenice had herself thought so even as she’d talked, but Valera and Harrolson had shown her such compassion from the start, she hadn’t wanted to think up a lie. Besides downplaying the role of a certain hikohi – which she figured he’d preferred anyway – the most dishonest part of her story was the omission of what she’d done to Garcie. She’d even mentioned the servants this time, and the treasure: the incriminating part. But it didn’t seem to matter here. At Fintress Estate, she was no criminal, for its host and valet saw in her a fine woman struggling in a tangled web of circumstance. Which, in the countess’ opinion, was still a truthful assessment. The vineyard owner turned her head. “Believe me, that trouble in Nineway sounds all too familiar. But these storms blow over. You did not have to suffer so much. That’s not to say I blame you for your actions, of course, given what pressure must come with being house matriarch at such a young age.” While that reassurance felt a little thin, given the magnitude of House Cairgleam’s problems, Jenice couldn’t help being comforted. “I intend to grow with the responsibility.” Valera smiled. “At that, I am certain you will succeed.” She took another sip of wine. “Now, as for your request, I think you’ll be more than pleased. Mr Jaketon’s crew is due to arrive soon for another shipment. He sails a fine ship. You will be joined by two of my [line break]
September 9, 2025 at 1:12 PM