Moor Ship Novels & Stories

We wait. It's still dark when the ocean ripples beneath the surface. The hoard moves toward us, their waterlogged bodies uglier than usual. Some have moss hanging from their twisted limbs; others are chewed on by the ocean's version of monsters. They move almost in unison as they lunge to shore. When they hit the beach, with no water to slow them down, they pick up speed. Marinah clicks her radio and orders the air attack against the Federation ships. "Ready, baby?" she whispers beside me.

As someone at the Super Sanctuary level, it would be a complete joke if he could not deal with a few Ambience level cultivators and one or two thousand special forces. At that moment, in the waters of Morburn, five warships were lined up in a row on the surface of the sea.

​The Respiration didn't land so much as it anchored itself into the sea, its massive, barnacled hull groaning as it settled against the basalt pedestal of the spire. It was a Frankenstein of a ship—sections of sleek Sterling "White-Steel" welded to rusted industrial scavenge and draped in a hardy, vacuum-resistant strain of Whisper-Moss that glowed with a sickly, pale violet light.

‘Alpha King, I seriously doubt that. ‘Make no assumptions about the assholes who would dare touch my mate!’ I answer. ‘Go for the fucking sail so they can’t get away!’ ‘Aye.’ Moments later, another volley flies through the air, this time a chain shot, its two cannonballs stretching the chain between them mid-air before they crash against the ship’s mast, twisting around the rigging and causing half the sail to collapse. The other half goes down with the six more shots we fire, and there’s not much they can do about it. Theirs is a cargo vessel, not equipped for combat and barely satisfactory for light defense.

"We have a situation at the southern border outposts. Three hours ago, a fleet of dreadnoughts breached the southern mist-barrier of our territorial waters. They do not fly the banners of the southern rogue factions, nor do they carry the sigils of any known shifter pack on this continent." Aurelia stepped forward, her golden eyes narrowing. "Commander, describe their ships." "They're enormous, of petrified black mahogany, reinforced with crimson steel," Marcus reported, jaw clenched. "Their sails are pitch black, woven with blood-red crests depicting a serpent coiled around a eclipsed sun. They have dropped anchor in the Bay of Whispers, and their envoy is already marching up the King's Roa

A warning. I grip the railing harder, heart pounding. The cargo ship looms ahead, massive and slow, vulnerable. And then—floodlights blaze from the starboard side. Another vessel emerges from the dark. Sleek, black, marked with a single insignia. The Vitale crest. I exhale, part relief, part dread. The new ship surges between the cargo and the attackers. Its guns roar, tearing into the speedboats with terrifying precision. Engines sputter, hulls splinter, screams cut through the air. Within minutes, the would-be raiders are retreating, limping into the night.

The old naval shipyard was a cemetery for rusted iron and rotting wood. Marco killed the engine a hundred yards out from the main pier. The sudden lack of that persistent engine knock made my ears ring in the dark cabin. Outside the mud-splattered windshield, the midnight storm was back with a vengeance. Heavy sheets of rain slammed horizontally against the glass, driven by a violent wind howling off the industrial river channel. The white valley fog had turned into a dark, greasy mist that smelled like river mud, sulfur, and stagnant diesel oil.

But as the first bone-white ship broke through the morning mist in the distance, I felt the old fire of the Deprivation wake up in my marrow. The bone-and-silk ship did not dock; it hovered a few inches above the churning surf of the harbor, defying the laws of buoyancy that governed the heavy Western ironclads. Its hull was a translucent, milky white, carved from the ribs of some gargantuan sea-beast, and the sails were spun from a material so fine they looked like captured moonlight.

"Did we already forget what happened last time we got friendly with a passing ship? Or do I need to remind you about the cannonballs and the almost drowning?" Molly hesitated, lowering her hands. "But... this could be the reinforcements." "Or it could be another band of opportunists looking to gut us," Serif countered. "We wait. Quietly." Molly and Dottie exchanged a glance but did as he said, stepping back into the shadows of the rocks. The ship loomed closer, but with no visible markings, it was impossible to tell friend from foe. The wind howled through the trees behind them, sending an unnatural chill down Serif’s spine. Then came the sound–soft at first, like footsteps on damp earth.

There is 4 total ships that would be involved in the Inspection tour from Aeternum Central Shark City to the Eloesa City, with the public aims is to inspect the river routes and also delivering a few important items from the Aeternum Mainland to the Kingdom of Eloesa. There is only a single modern ships in the entire fleet of 4, that modern ship is the Coastal Patrol ship types from the Coast Guard, of which that I bought on earth before, the ship were fully geared up and armed to the teeth, ready for combat. As for the other 3 ships were the slow moving medieval wooden ships caravel, naturally it was all fitted with Magic Sails, for a bit faster movement. Yes, the Sail were magically enchan