I-A2 - Puss In Boots...? If there was one thing Scrooge McDuck hated more than anything else, it was a thief. To make your money through hard work is one thing, to steal it from others is a whole other kind of evil. So once a call went up of be-booted cats (or otherwise) making off with heists, Scrooge saw fit to arm himself well.
While he was still working on being able to tap into his Essence (and wouldn't harpoons be a little much anyway?), he still had plenty of methods to defend himself with. Just had to put himself in the right place at the right time, and- aha! There goes one of the slippery critters now. Hardly slowed down at all by his peg leg, Scrooge raced to cross paths with it, reaching out with his cane to trip it up.
"Ah! Got you now!" Or he did, at least until the cat responded with a blast of magic that flinched Scrooge back and let the thief get away. Reeling some, he coughed in the wake of the flare, waving a hand to get rid of the dumb cloud of smoke that'd been left. Intercept the thief? Check on the old duck? Better yet, help him join the chase. Either way, this isn't a job for one person, even if that person is Scrooge McDuck.
I-C - Try out the Journal This was hardly the first magical book he'd ever come across, but this was the first one that'd been in wide supply. Still, he had to admit that it seemed to be put together well, appearing as a ship journal you might find during the Golden Age of Sail. The medallion, decorated with waves, got an interested eye to it too, and once he heard what all the journal could do, why not test it out? His question is a simple one, but depending on the answers he gets, this could go interesting places.
Who's been here the longest? If you haven't been, what do you think of all of this?
IV - Wildcard (with a little Essence Practice) It had been a long time since he'd last read this story. He certainly remembered it from his youth, and its presence went right along with the existing whispers of dangerous whales and other terrors that came with sweeping the Atlantic in ships. And while he knew that, even now, he wasn't living it, something about this whole thing weighed heavily on his mind.
Perhaps it was the physical changes it'd wrought on him, most notably the peg leg. That had been a struggle to learn how to walk with at first, and even now he had a particular "step clunk" gait that anyone could tell from a mile away. And while there were smaller changes like more to his existing facial hair and an old tattered-but-sturdy overcoat he could wear, he had to admit that the peg leg weighed most heavily on his mind. And looking at it, noting it was made of whalebone as it was in the book, he had to wonder if his obsession over it was his own, or his Essence's...?
Either way, there was new skills to be had. Scrooge had found a quiet corner to practice in, the overcoat shrugged off and the sleeves of his normal coat pushed up past his elbows. A makeshift target had been set up several yards away, waiting. He took in a long, deep breath, held it several seconds, then let it out slowly. One hand reached out and, with a crack like lightning breaking over the ocean, a roped harpoon appeared in his hand. He narrowed his eyes, feeling the skill flow through him; already adept at sea, everything focused intensely, coming with it the fury of the raging waves. He twisted his body back and raised the weapon, staring at the target to the exclusion of everything else, even unaware that he was being watched. Wrenching himself back around he hurled the harpoon with all his might; it sailed across the space and landed deep in the target with a loud, solid sound. This was followed up by a triumphant one from Scrooge-
Right before he, having been left balanced on the peg leg, lost said balance. One mini-hop and then he bodily hit the dirt. He laid there a moment, then pushed himself up with an angry spit, muttering to himself. Where's that dang rope- ah, there it is. He brushed himself off and followed the rope, coiling it along his arm, until he reached the target and could pull the harpoon out.
True Wildcard ((OOC: Got another idea? Tag away, or hit me up at zumidotexe for plotting! Also, will respond to either prose or brackets, whichever you prefer~ ))
Scrooge McDuck | DuckTales 1987/Disney comics | Captain Ahab
If there was one thing Scrooge McDuck hated more than anything else, it was a thief. To make your money through hard work is one thing, to steal it from others is a whole other kind of evil. So once a call went up of be-booted cats (or otherwise) making off with heists, Scrooge saw fit to arm himself well.
While he was still working on being able to tap into his Essence (and wouldn't harpoons be a little much anyway?), he still had plenty of methods to defend himself with. Just had to put himself in the right place at the right time, and- aha! There goes one of the slippery critters now. Hardly slowed down at all by his peg leg, Scrooge raced to cross paths with it, reaching out with his cane to trip it up.
"Ah! Got you now!" Or he did, at least until the cat responded with a blast of magic that flinched Scrooge back and let the thief get away. Reeling some, he coughed in the wake of the flare, waving a hand to get rid of the dumb cloud of smoke that'd been left. Intercept the thief? Check on the old duck? Better yet, help him join the chase. Either way, this isn't a job for one person, even if that person is Scrooge McDuck.
I-C - Try out the Journal
This was hardly the first magical book he'd ever come across, but this was the first one that'd been in wide supply. Still, he had to admit that it seemed to be put together well, appearing as a ship journal you might find during the Golden Age of Sail. The medallion, decorated with waves, got an interested eye to it too, and once he heard what all the journal could do, why not test it out? His question is a simple one, but depending on the answers he gets, this could go interesting places.
Who's been here the longest? If you haven't been, what do you think of all of this?
IV - Wildcard (with a little Essence Practice)
It had been a long time since he'd last read this story. He certainly remembered it from his youth, and its presence went right along with the existing whispers of dangerous whales and other terrors that came with sweeping the Atlantic in ships. And while he knew that, even now, he wasn't living it, something about this whole thing weighed heavily on his mind.
Perhaps it was the physical changes it'd wrought on him, most notably the peg leg. That had been a struggle to learn how to walk with at first, and even now he had a particular "step clunk" gait that anyone could tell from a mile away. And while there were smaller changes like more to his existing facial hair and an old tattered-but-sturdy overcoat he could wear, he had to admit that the peg leg weighed most heavily on his mind. And looking at it, noting it was made of whalebone as it was in the book, he had to wonder if his obsession over it was his own, or his Essence's...?
Either way, there was new skills to be had. Scrooge had found a quiet corner to practice in, the overcoat shrugged off and the sleeves of his normal coat pushed up past his elbows. A makeshift target had been set up several yards away, waiting. He took in a long, deep breath, held it several seconds, then let it out slowly. One hand reached out and, with a crack like lightning breaking over the ocean, a roped harpoon appeared in his hand. He narrowed his eyes, feeling the skill flow through him; already adept at sea, everything focused intensely, coming with it the fury of the raging waves. He twisted his body back and raised the weapon, staring at the target to the exclusion of everything else, even unaware that he was being watched. Wrenching himself back around he hurled the harpoon with all his might; it sailed across the space and landed deep in the target with a loud, solid sound. This was followed up by a triumphant one from Scrooge-
Right before he, having been left balanced on the peg leg, lost said balance. One mini-hop and then he bodily hit the dirt. He laid there a moment, then pushed himself up with an angry spit, muttering to himself. Where's that dang rope- ah, there it is. He brushed himself off and followed the rope, coiling it along his arm, until he reached the target and could pull the harpoon out.
True Wildcard
((OOC: Got another idea? Tag away, or hit me up at