Kloudy
The Lore Savant
Last edited:
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Fantasy Realms of Aldaan ~Dacht Theocratic Conglomerate~
- Thread starter Kloudy
- Start date
SentinelSevn
Professional Coffee Addict
Perched at the forward deck of his ship, the captain looked outward towards the vast blue of the ocean beyond. The cool wind blew at his face, through the bristles of his greying beard and screaming past his ears to drown out the commotion from the docks. Commotion that was drawn from their preparation of his vessel for the grand voyage to the other side of the continent, from the Dacht Conglomerate to the Jormun Thallassy.
Despite the journey being on the opposite side of the continent, he knew making the journey by land was far more treacherous than making it by sea. The trek through the center of the Kingdom of the Eclipse alone was suicide, let alone the rest of it. At least by the sea, he knew these routes like he had been traversing them from the day he was born, which was not extremely far from the truth.
Before leaving from his little coven of respite, he looked down towards the waters lapping at the hull of his ship. The crests of saltwater calmed him as they began to mimic his heartbeat with each calm brush towards him, rocking the ship in just the slightest like a baby in a cradle. But looking further beyond the white waves, he felt an ominous urge that there was something else in these oceans meant for this journey. Something in the dark expanse beyond the eye can see, and he felt it watching. Waiting. Near a lifetime on these oceans, and he was always wary that the waves could easily swallow the entire ship whole if that were their wish. But this was different. It was a darkness that felt like it was creeping of the hairs of his neck, inching his way up until finally the feeling had itself wrapped around his neck, suffocatingly if the rushing waves didn’t drown him first.
The cracking of a box as one of the sailors dropped their cargo on the ship’s deck snapped him from his anxious dreaming, and the captain began to pray to the gods O’orene and Tamban to give him strenth not to wring them lifeless before they did. He took one more look out towards the expanse of the ocean for them also to give him safe passage, before he turned around to face the poor soldier.
“Youuuuu rusty nail on the side of a wooden plank,” the captain began with a roar, making his way down from the forward deck and onto the loading bay. “Watch yourself loading these here boxes, each and every one of them is worth about half of what your cut of this haul is. And you bet your sorry ass that each and every one of you is being held accountable for any damage you cost me.”
A few grumblings from the sailors and curses from the captain, and the captain took his leave from the scene before looking out towards the docks. There he spotted a group of people, dressed in some mismatched attire and looking like they had not even once earned their sea legs. But they were waiting, looking out towards his ship like they were expecting something of him. And to that, he assumed they were the adventurers that had signed up on this voyage from the quest he had posted.
As much as he would have liked to have a crew of his own, he found it less expensive to only have enough crew to man the more important parts of the ship, and then hire adventurers to act as the muscle of the group, while also acting in its defense. In bread and butter terms, they were the cannon fodder. They were even less expensive when he could con the company leading his trade to fulfill the cost of hiring such adventurers at a roughly fifty-fifty split with himself.
From the deck of his ship he called out towards the group, “Ahoy! Greetings, and welcome to my ship. Her name is the Lemuria,” He introduced, with a few hefty pats on the ship’s scaffolding. “And she’s been sailing these seas nigh fifteen years to this day. If one o’ you decide to be the reason she sinks, I’ll have your face stitched on the figurehead of my next ship!” He let out a laugh like it was meant to be a joke, but there was a menacing heft to his voice that only dared one of them to even try,
“And I am the one and only, Captain Barclay Lore.” He called out while resting his hand onto his chest, teetering forward in what could have been interpreted as a slight bow of respect in their direction. “I’m the one who posted such a quest, and we will be spending roughly a month of our time together.”
He pointed towards the sailors still moving cargo into the body of the ship, and the thirty or so boxes of it that lay sealed on the docks. “I’ll take your moving of our goods onto the Lemuria’s cargo hold as your acceptance for the ride, so best get a move on!”
Despite the journey being on the opposite side of the continent, he knew making the journey by land was far more treacherous than making it by sea. The trek through the center of the Kingdom of the Eclipse alone was suicide, let alone the rest of it. At least by the sea, he knew these routes like he had been traversing them from the day he was born, which was not extremely far from the truth.
Before leaving from his little coven of respite, he looked down towards the waters lapping at the hull of his ship. The crests of saltwater calmed him as they began to mimic his heartbeat with each calm brush towards him, rocking the ship in just the slightest like a baby in a cradle. But looking further beyond the white waves, he felt an ominous urge that there was something else in these oceans meant for this journey. Something in the dark expanse beyond the eye can see, and he felt it watching. Waiting. Near a lifetime on these oceans, and he was always wary that the waves could easily swallow the entire ship whole if that were their wish. But this was different. It was a darkness that felt like it was creeping of the hairs of his neck, inching his way up until finally the feeling had itself wrapped around his neck, suffocatingly if the rushing waves didn’t drown him first.
The cracking of a box as one of the sailors dropped their cargo on the ship’s deck snapped him from his anxious dreaming, and the captain began to pray to the gods O’orene and Tamban to give him strenth not to wring them lifeless before they did. He took one more look out towards the expanse of the ocean for them also to give him safe passage, before he turned around to face the poor soldier.
“Youuuuu rusty nail on the side of a wooden plank,” the captain began with a roar, making his way down from the forward deck and onto the loading bay. “Watch yourself loading these here boxes, each and every one of them is worth about half of what your cut of this haul is. And you bet your sorry ass that each and every one of you is being held accountable for any damage you cost me.”
A few grumblings from the sailors and curses from the captain, and the captain took his leave from the scene before looking out towards the docks. There he spotted a group of people, dressed in some mismatched attire and looking like they had not even once earned their sea legs. But they were waiting, looking out towards his ship like they were expecting something of him. And to that, he assumed they were the adventurers that had signed up on this voyage from the quest he had posted.
As much as he would have liked to have a crew of his own, he found it less expensive to only have enough crew to man the more important parts of the ship, and then hire adventurers to act as the muscle of the group, while also acting in its defense. In bread and butter terms, they were the cannon fodder. They were even less expensive when he could con the company leading his trade to fulfill the cost of hiring such adventurers at a roughly fifty-fifty split with himself.
From the deck of his ship he called out towards the group, “Ahoy! Greetings, and welcome to my ship. Her name is the Lemuria,” He introduced, with a few hefty pats on the ship’s scaffolding. “And she’s been sailing these seas nigh fifteen years to this day. If one o’ you decide to be the reason she sinks, I’ll have your face stitched on the figurehead of my next ship!” He let out a laugh like it was meant to be a joke, but there was a menacing heft to his voice that only dared one of them to even try,
“And I am the one and only, Captain Barclay Lore.” He called out while resting his hand onto his chest, teetering forward in what could have been interpreted as a slight bow of respect in their direction. “I’m the one who posted such a quest, and we will be spending roughly a month of our time together.”
He pointed towards the sailors still moving cargo into the body of the ship, and the thirty or so boxes of it that lay sealed on the docks. “I’ll take your moving of our goods onto the Lemuria’s cargo hold as your acceptance for the ride, so best get a move on!”
The Dacht Quest
Current Character Participants:
- Licht Brombeere
The Prophet
- Averill
Longhead
Current NPCs in play:
- Barclay Lore - Captain of the Lemuria
Current Character Participants:
- Licht Brombeere
The Prophet
- Averill
Longhead
Current NPCs in play:
- Barclay Lore - Captain of the Lemuria
Current Characters Killed:
NA... for now
NA... for now
Longhead
hello?
For as long as he’d been standing amidst the group of adventurers, waiting on a greeting from the captain of the ship, and then even longer than that during the captain’s greeting, Averill had been struck with a question that filled up every corner of his mind. His eyes were certainly trained on the captain as he introduced himself and his ship, but his ears weren’t nearly on the same wavelength as his eyes. There was no room for processing any single one of the words that came out of the captain’s mouth. The only thing he was occupied with was discerning the answer to one question:
What smells worse? The sea, or the men he’s travelling over it with? More importantly, could he tolerate a month of either?
He knew for sure he could tolerate giving up his first boat ride if it meant he could go point his nose somewhere else, but he wasn’t sure if there was a better way to get as far away from “home” as he could. A month across the northern coast would land him in the Jormun Maritime Thallasy. That is, if he’d read the map for sale in the market he wandered through earlier. He’d heard that trying to trek through the Tribal Expanse was the equivalent to falling on the tip of his own spear, but every peek he got of the seemingly endless expanse of blue ahead of him made him wonder if the journey he was about to go on was any safer.
Maybe it was an innate fear of the unknown. There were a lot of things Averill hadn’t been exposed to other than the sea. Granted, he assumed it was safe to say he wouldn’t be afraid of all of them. He also assumed it was safe to say other things wouldn’t threaten to make him nose blind.
The more he thought about it, the more he had to assume people from Demastia smelled worse and he’d just lived there so long he couldn’t even describe it as bad more than it was normal. Everyone else had more than ample amounts of opportunities to bathe themselves compared to slaves. Maybe the word he was looking for to describe this group of adventurers was “new” and not “bad.”
“The water is worse.” He whispered to himself. The conclusion was timely too, as the moment the words escaped his mouth, he refocused on where he was and came to find that everyone was moving past him. He watched men one by one pick up a box, and if they were on the stronger side, two boxes, and carry them onto the ship in lines reminiscent of those ants made when they brought crumbs back to the colony.
Soon he was following their example. He couldn’t consider himself above such a thing; he wasn’t a noble anymore. That is, if he could ever call himself one to begin with. As he approached a box, a man walked across his path. The smell he was trailing caused Averill to squeeze his nostrils shut, shooting a dirty look at the man's back. He bent over and dug his fingers under a box on the ground, but just before he could lift it, an abnormally large feather fell gently on top of it.
“That’s...awfully large.” Averill said, pointing out the obvious as he reached out to grab it. Just before his hand touched it, a light shock was sent through his body, causing him to tense and jump slightly as he withdrew his hand, startled. He would’ve just picked another box had the wind not blown the feather off the top a moment after. He didn’t know too many things that molted charged feathers.
Immediately, Averill looked to the sky to see if he could catch what kind of bird might shed such a thing, but when he turned his eyes to the sky, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the typical screeching white birds that seemed to be everywhere along the docks. ’...I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought.’ He reminisced about tripping over a root while running from a group of Ironcrown soldiers just a week prior.
He shook his head, dismissing the occurrence as something that only happened in his head. He dug his fingers under the box yet again and lifted it to his chest. He looked ahead at the ramp onto the ship. The ship was grand, definitely big enough to hold as many people as he saw heading on board. Certainly something so impressive had a name, and Averill was starting to kick himself for blanking out while the captain spoke. He might’ve missed something important.
’A name’s nothing important, though. It’s just a boat.’
Now that he thought about it, what he was doing was technically a job; something he’d be getting paid for. He never took the time to see what was in it for him aside from a somewhat free trip across the continent. Wherever he was going, he’d undoubtedly need money, and it was becoming a painful nuisance of the growing type that he didn’t bring any money from Lord Equivocal’s property. Hopefully whatever he made by the end of this would be enough to get him food and bed until he could come across another job opportunity.
While he was on his month-long vacation, maybe he could do some reflection and thinking. What was he going to do? His admittedly grandiose goal wasn’t something he could do by himself, and he imagined garnering support would be difficult. Averill imagined that if he went around posting “HELP WANTED” fliers around they’d probably be taken down an hour after they were posted. It was fortunate he had an entire month to think about it.
He ascended the ramp onto the ship in rank with the others carrying boxes on board. Arriving on the deck, he found that the boat shifted with the water, tilting, rising and falling. Walking on something that was moving in such a relatively subtle way was difficult. For a moment, he thought he’d be able to get the hang of it, but after looking out and seeing that the waves were much larger further away from the dock, his faith in his ability to learn to walk on a boat was waning.
He took a while longer to stare out at the ocean. Watching the waves rise, and then decay more and more as they came closer to the dock until they were nothing more than a bump on a watery trail. He’d only seen the ocean on maps before. He knew it was big, but he didn’t think it was this big. Seeing how impossibly big the ocean was — not to mention they’d be able to travel for a month on it nonstop — made him realize how much of the world he hadn’t seen. It made him feel small.
He thought he’d seen a lot already. Ironcrown was an industrial powerhouse. The rates that they produced things at made it incredibly easy for them to expand and establish new cities. He’d seen lore unlike anything Demastia had. Then again, he imagined just about every other country had more than Demastia. Still, it didn’t take away from the fact that Ironcrown was impressive; it was undeniable despite not having seen much of anywhere else. Maybe after they reached land Averill would take some time to travel.
For a moment he grew excited about travelling. He remembered his first time having a door that locked, and in hindsight it was a simple thing; nearly everyone had a door that locked. Still, it felt like the greatest privilege in the world, and he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want that feeling again. He would’ve guessed it wouldn’t be too hard to experience that kind of wonder again, but if he thought about it for a moment, this was his first time seeing a boat and the ocean, and it didn’t feel like anything special. Maybe it was the smell, maybe it was the bobbing ground, maybe he was dreading being on the water for a month, or maybe he just couldn’t enjoy it because he knew he was here for work.
Speaking of working, he realized he’d been staring off for quite some time at this point. “Well, what do you know?” He mumbled quietly to himself. He’d already gotten used to standing on the ship. Averill wasn’t one to celebrate, but a self-reassuring smirk was certainly in order. He looked around to see where he should put his box down, or, he would’ve liked too. He felt a certain familiar rising in his stomach, and he found himself at the edge of the ship so quickly he couldn’t even remember dropping it.
Averill could only hope he forgot what dropped out of his mouth. It wasn’t because his own vomit was disgusting enough to make him vomit twice, no. It was more that it was a reminder that it would likely be the better half of his month voyage that he’d be draped over the edge of the ship like a cloth left to air-dry. How was he going to keep his energy up if he couldn’t even stomach food long enough for it to digest? He retched, though nothing came up this time around. He'd only eaten once today. If he was going to keep pseudo-vomiting the whole voyage, how was he going to protect any cargo at all?
He groaned and wiped his mouth. What was he even going to need to protect the cargo from? The waves? There was little he could do to fight the ocean itself with a spear. Last he checked, Deimforged didn't make very good swimmers, he assumed. Most of those ugly things could hardly run. Passing by Deim's kingdom would be no issue at all. Unless the creatures under the blue were as dangerous as things you might find in the Tribal Expanse, Averill would likely be able to throw up as much as he likes. That alone was enough to make him smile until he realized how dangerous Aldaan's fauna was. The fact it was very possible for the sea to be just as dangerous as the land wiped the smile off his face.
It was times like this that made Averill wish he was born with magical predestination or something similar. If he'd known that he was going to spend a month throwing up an hour after he ate and then having to guess whether it was the motion sickness, the salty air, or his colleagues that made it so, he probably would've looked for other work. He couldn't call anyone other than himself a fool for not considering the danger. It wasn't that he was expecting easy pay — if someone needed to pay for protection they'd obviously need protection from something — but how was he supposed to account for not being able to stand? Do people normally get motion sick?
He looked around. Everyone else seemed fine. He could only hope that he wasn't the only one, but if he wasn't, everyone else who was on the same boat as him — figuratively — was doing a far better job than him. He could feel his face getting hot. To be the only one sick when the boat was hardly even moving was embarrassing. As he normally did when he was embarrassed, he began to talk to himself in a manner as such to justify his situation as if he was explaining it to someone else. "In my defense, I've never even seen a boat until today. I don't even like riding on horses or in carriages or wagons. No one could've expected me to enjoy a boat...It's just like a carriage, except it's drawn by...wind...and not...hors-"
He shut his mouth tightly and his cheeks puffed out, his mouth filled with a foul taste. Dejected, he let the rest of what he ate leave his body and let his chin rest on the guard rail. Many had probably seen him, but hopefully no one heard his muttering. He looked behind him just to see how much attention he was attracting. As he turned, he saw a few people avert their gaze. He turned back and sighed, looking at the water below. He opened his mouth to speak to the ocean itself.
"...Kill me."
SentinelSevn
The Prophet
What smells worse? The sea, or the men he’s travelling over it with? More importantly, could he tolerate a month of either?
He knew for sure he could tolerate giving up his first boat ride if it meant he could go point his nose somewhere else, but he wasn’t sure if there was a better way to get as far away from “home” as he could. A month across the northern coast would land him in the Jormun Maritime Thallasy. That is, if he’d read the map for sale in the market he wandered through earlier. He’d heard that trying to trek through the Tribal Expanse was the equivalent to falling on the tip of his own spear, but every peek he got of the seemingly endless expanse of blue ahead of him made him wonder if the journey he was about to go on was any safer.
Maybe it was an innate fear of the unknown. There were a lot of things Averill hadn’t been exposed to other than the sea. Granted, he assumed it was safe to say he wouldn’t be afraid of all of them. He also assumed it was safe to say other things wouldn’t threaten to make him nose blind.
The more he thought about it, the more he had to assume people from Demastia smelled worse and he’d just lived there so long he couldn’t even describe it as bad more than it was normal. Everyone else had more than ample amounts of opportunities to bathe themselves compared to slaves. Maybe the word he was looking for to describe this group of adventurers was “new” and not “bad.”
“The water is worse.” He whispered to himself. The conclusion was timely too, as the moment the words escaped his mouth, he refocused on where he was and came to find that everyone was moving past him. He watched men one by one pick up a box, and if they were on the stronger side, two boxes, and carry them onto the ship in lines reminiscent of those ants made when they brought crumbs back to the colony.
Soon he was following their example. He couldn’t consider himself above such a thing; he wasn’t a noble anymore. That is, if he could ever call himself one to begin with. As he approached a box, a man walked across his path. The smell he was trailing caused Averill to squeeze his nostrils shut, shooting a dirty look at the man's back. He bent over and dug his fingers under a box on the ground, but just before he could lift it, an abnormally large feather fell gently on top of it.
“That’s...awfully large.” Averill said, pointing out the obvious as he reached out to grab it. Just before his hand touched it, a light shock was sent through his body, causing him to tense and jump slightly as he withdrew his hand, startled. He would’ve just picked another box had the wind not blown the feather off the top a moment after. He didn’t know too many things that molted charged feathers.
Immediately, Averill looked to the sky to see if he could catch what kind of bird might shed such a thing, but when he turned his eyes to the sky, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the typical screeching white birds that seemed to be everywhere along the docks. ’...I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought.’ He reminisced about tripping over a root while running from a group of Ironcrown soldiers just a week prior.
He shook his head, dismissing the occurrence as something that only happened in his head. He dug his fingers under the box yet again and lifted it to his chest. He looked ahead at the ramp onto the ship. The ship was grand, definitely big enough to hold as many people as he saw heading on board. Certainly something so impressive had a name, and Averill was starting to kick himself for blanking out while the captain spoke. He might’ve missed something important.
’A name’s nothing important, though. It’s just a boat.’
Now that he thought about it, what he was doing was technically a job; something he’d be getting paid for. He never took the time to see what was in it for him aside from a somewhat free trip across the continent. Wherever he was going, he’d undoubtedly need money, and it was becoming a painful nuisance of the growing type that he didn’t bring any money from Lord Equivocal’s property. Hopefully whatever he made by the end of this would be enough to get him food and bed until he could come across another job opportunity.
While he was on his month-long vacation, maybe he could do some reflection and thinking. What was he going to do? His admittedly grandiose goal wasn’t something he could do by himself, and he imagined garnering support would be difficult. Averill imagined that if he went around posting “HELP WANTED” fliers around they’d probably be taken down an hour after they were posted. It was fortunate he had an entire month to think about it.
He ascended the ramp onto the ship in rank with the others carrying boxes on board. Arriving on the deck, he found that the boat shifted with the water, tilting, rising and falling. Walking on something that was moving in such a relatively subtle way was difficult. For a moment, he thought he’d be able to get the hang of it, but after looking out and seeing that the waves were much larger further away from the dock, his faith in his ability to learn to walk on a boat was waning.
He took a while longer to stare out at the ocean. Watching the waves rise, and then decay more and more as they came closer to the dock until they were nothing more than a bump on a watery trail. He’d only seen the ocean on maps before. He knew it was big, but he didn’t think it was this big. Seeing how impossibly big the ocean was — not to mention they’d be able to travel for a month on it nonstop — made him realize how much of the world he hadn’t seen. It made him feel small.
He thought he’d seen a lot already. Ironcrown was an industrial powerhouse. The rates that they produced things at made it incredibly easy for them to expand and establish new cities. He’d seen lore unlike anything Demastia had. Then again, he imagined just about every other country had more than Demastia. Still, it didn’t take away from the fact that Ironcrown was impressive; it was undeniable despite not having seen much of anywhere else. Maybe after they reached land Averill would take some time to travel.
For a moment he grew excited about travelling. He remembered his first time having a door that locked, and in hindsight it was a simple thing; nearly everyone had a door that locked. Still, it felt like the greatest privilege in the world, and he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want that feeling again. He would’ve guessed it wouldn’t be too hard to experience that kind of wonder again, but if he thought about it for a moment, this was his first time seeing a boat and the ocean, and it didn’t feel like anything special. Maybe it was the smell, maybe it was the bobbing ground, maybe he was dreading being on the water for a month, or maybe he just couldn’t enjoy it because he knew he was here for work.
Speaking of working, he realized he’d been staring off for quite some time at this point. “Well, what do you know?” He mumbled quietly to himself. He’d already gotten used to standing on the ship. Averill wasn’t one to celebrate, but a self-reassuring smirk was certainly in order. He looked around to see where he should put his box down, or, he would’ve liked too. He felt a certain familiar rising in his stomach, and he found himself at the edge of the ship so quickly he couldn’t even remember dropping it.
Averill could only hope he forgot what dropped out of his mouth. It wasn’t because his own vomit was disgusting enough to make him vomit twice, no. It was more that it was a reminder that it would likely be the better half of his month voyage that he’d be draped over the edge of the ship like a cloth left to air-dry. How was he going to keep his energy up if he couldn’t even stomach food long enough for it to digest? He retched, though nothing came up this time around. He'd only eaten once today. If he was going to keep pseudo-vomiting the whole voyage, how was he going to protect any cargo at all?
He groaned and wiped his mouth. What was he even going to need to protect the cargo from? The waves? There was little he could do to fight the ocean itself with a spear. Last he checked, Deimforged didn't make very good swimmers, he assumed. Most of those ugly things could hardly run. Passing by Deim's kingdom would be no issue at all. Unless the creatures under the blue were as dangerous as things you might find in the Tribal Expanse, Averill would likely be able to throw up as much as he likes. That alone was enough to make him smile until he realized how dangerous Aldaan's fauna was. The fact it was very possible for the sea to be just as dangerous as the land wiped the smile off his face.
It was times like this that made Averill wish he was born with magical predestination or something similar. If he'd known that he was going to spend a month throwing up an hour after he ate and then having to guess whether it was the motion sickness, the salty air, or his colleagues that made it so, he probably would've looked for other work. He couldn't call anyone other than himself a fool for not considering the danger. It wasn't that he was expecting easy pay — if someone needed to pay for protection they'd obviously need protection from something — but how was he supposed to account for not being able to stand? Do people normally get motion sick?
He looked around. Everyone else seemed fine. He could only hope that he wasn't the only one, but if he wasn't, everyone else who was on the same boat as him — figuratively — was doing a far better job than him. He could feel his face getting hot. To be the only one sick when the boat was hardly even moving was embarrassing. As he normally did when he was embarrassed, he began to talk to himself in a manner as such to justify his situation as if he was explaining it to someone else. "In my defense, I've never even seen a boat until today. I don't even like riding on horses or in carriages or wagons. No one could've expected me to enjoy a boat...It's just like a carriage, except it's drawn by...wind...and not...hors-"
He shut his mouth tightly and his cheeks puffed out, his mouth filled with a foul taste. Dejected, he let the rest of what he ate leave his body and let his chin rest on the guard rail. Many had probably seen him, but hopefully no one heard his muttering. He looked behind him just to see how much attention he was attracting. As he turned, he saw a few people avert their gaze. He turned back and sighed, looking at the water below. He opened his mouth to speak to the ocean itself.
"...Kill me."
~~~
SentinelSevn
The Prophet
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The Prophet
The Loremaster
~LICHT~
"..."
This wasn't his first time near the ocean, not by a long shot. It was common to make trips to the port cities, mostly for the sake of business but other times for simply the sake of buying new products from the many imports from other kingdoms. It wasn't new to him, so why was it such a sight every time? He was sure that the vast expanse of near still blue captivated him just as easily as his first time beholding it. A liquid blanket with seemingly no end, hiding all manner of chaos swimming just below the surface. Water seen today won't be seen tomorrow and it's nothing but a toll of the dice every time one sinks past the surface. Anything could come up, so many things could happen. Sitting on a stool at the end of the pier, he could only sit and watch a distant fish break the surface before being swallowed up again.
If the ocean was a die with a million sides, then his experience ever since setting out was a coin with both sides falling on heads. It took him a few days to make it from his home in Ironcrown to the ports in Dacht, and despite the complete change in appearance and culture around him, they responded in largely the same way. Always subtle, but still there. An odd look here and a slight shuffle away there; even the dog he saw just earlier shied away. It would be repetitive just thinking about it; how similar people were despite being so different. It was all so dreadfully...dull.
He'd left his home city in Ironcrown in pursuit of his ambition to be sure, but Licht was admittedly hoping for something else. And as the man stood from the dock's ledge and patted down his clothing for anything to negatively impact his impression, he wondered when he'd find such a thing. Licht turned on a heel and walked down the length, slipping around dockworkers all the while in pursuit of the ship in which he'd perform his next job. "What was the name again? Perhaps I should ask." It took one moment for him to second guess that decision; the workers were busy and would hardly like to talk to an armed stranger, even if he was well dressed. In fact, that likely worked to his detriment. Sailors only really liked similar types usually.
In time, creaking wood gave way to the lurching variety as he found his way to the right ship just on time. The captain and his orders were simple; do work for the month, and they'd end up paid and in thallasy. Not all too bad of an offer, but the idea of ship food for a month was hardly something to look forward to. No matter, this event wouldn't matter in a month. By then, he'd be in a new country and then doing whatever worthwhile jobs there were to be found there. Until then, he just had to defend a vessel until it reached its destination. On top of such, he wasn't alone. Others took the job, though Licht surmised he wouldn't give getting to know them. They seemed useful however. In fact, one of them was currently...was currently throwing up over the side. In a moment a faint smile gave way to a blank expression, before the same fake smile retook its place. It wasn't hard to guess why they got sick; the people stinked, the ship smelled, and the sea mixed all of that up and spilled it out. Even Licht could admit to no being used to the ocean; occasionally his steps would stumble, or his steps fell further out than a typical step. Whatever the reason, this adventurer's reaction didn't inspire any humor within Licht. Instead, it made him reevaluate his usefulness. The man seemed to be recovering somewhat, so Licht got his new answer in a few quick looks.
"...Ahem."
Licht tentatively patted the adventurer's back, being careful in case of a mess before stepping back for safety. Resting a hand on his left side just above his rapier, Licht smiled. "I'm sure a cot would be much more preferable than resting your head on a wooden rail. Are you alright there friend? I won't pretend to know much about medical practice, but it obviously seems that the environment is quite harsh on your nose, and your stomach." At this point in his admittedly short life so far, kind and smiling came easy. He waved a hand to the increasingly red faced individual before picking up a box, careful not to scuff his coat. "I know you likely feel terrible at the moment, but these sailors are likely used to such a sight. I myself am finding a little trouble staying upright. It might do you good to get your mind off things. Grab a crate and brace yourself; they smell a lot worse without open air." Licht broke into a light chuckle, closing his pale eyes briefly in a fraudulent laugh. "I'm sorry, you can't deny that the sight isn't at least a slight bit funny. You'll feel better in an hour, without anything in your stomach the worst thing that can happen is you gag."
Licht made for the steps down into the rest of the ship, but stopped at the top step. "Name's Licht Brombeere, by the way. Figured knowing each other's names would be good and all, considering we're both going to be seeing a lot of each other in this month-long guard duty. What's yours?"
Longhead
hello?
Averill wanted to stand very badly. He was making himself look...weak. Or useless. Like deadweight, maybe. Nobody would be able to take him seriously if every time they thought of him it was as the elf who couldn’t keep it down on the first day before the ship had set sail. This wouldn’t have been an issue if it was a short trip. For all he knew, a month might’ve been short for some sailors, but he wasn’t a sailor. Being anywhere for a month was an investment, or at the very least it felt like a grand one for Averil.
Although his body had stopped regurgitating the contents of his stomach, it didn’t take away from the fact that he still felt sick. He considered that maybe he wasn’t feeling sick, but maybe the humiliation was what was tying his stomach into knots. He’d have to suck it up and work through it at some point. He imagined someone wouldn’t pick his box up for him, and it’d remain on the ground until he picked himself up and took it himself.
For a moment, his back became warm and tingly for an instant. It usually only happened when someone was behind him, but it proved to be quite unreliable at times. This seemed to be one of instances; who wasn’t behind him at this point? His back was turned to everyone, though for a moment his body overcame his illness momentarily and every cell in his body felt like it wanted to squirm free. It felt like he was being stalked, somehow; a presence he wanted nothing to do with was approaching. Despite not feeling sick, any attempt to move still felt incredibly weak. If he could’ve reached for the spear slung across his back, he would’ve.
However, Averill dismissed his hody’s warning when he felt a few pats on his back. As unwelcome as it was, it wasn’t threatening. In fact, it almost drew his ire. He didn’t ask for any comfort or pity. He was fine!
Fine as in he was done throwing up, seemingly. If he didn’t feel so sick he might have some words for whoever touched him, but he didn’t have the strength to do much at the moment. He didn’t intend on replying, but he couldn’t help but feel a groan building when he heard that the sailors could smell worse, and the groan escaped when he heard the man chuckle behind him. He couldn’t disagree with him though. If he could swap places with anyone else on this ship, not only would he decide to bathe more often, but he would probably find his own predicament pretty funny as well.
At the very least, not a single word that came from the man’s mouth was ill-natured. Averill didn’t ask for anyone’s advice, but he was trying his best to appreciate the gesture. If he lashed out at everyone, even if they meant well, he wouldn’t get very far in much of anything. In his defense though, he wasn’t exactly well socialized with anyone he didn’t need to fight or serve.
His chin was starting to feel sore. Perhaps he really did need to find a cot. Maybe an hour of laying down properly was exactly what he needed. “Just need to make it...through an hour. I hope that’s-” he retched, “all it takes.” Upon hearing the man, Licht, give his name, he threw one of his arms back over onto the ship and half turned to see who he was speaking with — or rather listening. If he was going to introduce himself, he at least wanted to look at who he was speaking with. What’s a name if you can only put it to a voice and not a face?
He managed to turn in time to catch the man heading down the stairs. He wanted to ask what the hell Licht was wearing. He stood out among this crowd, and Averill half expected him to be robbed and kicked in the teeth during the night. Everything about him looked expensive, especially when it came to the blade he kept. He was sure his own Lord had something like that, though he never used it. If Licht was on this boat, it implied he had some sort of skill with it. It also may just mean he was a noble’s foolish son. In fact, just from the way he spoke and carried himself, it looked like that may be the case.
In other news, Averill had a hard time believing this was the presence he felt earlier. His body was only on edge for a moment until its apprehension was overthrown by Averill’s attempt to become angry. It might’ve been that he was just more sick than he actually expected, though that possibility had two meanings to Averill. Either he was too sick for his body to fully realize a dangerous man, or he was too sick to accurately evaluate any kind of danger. Both were an issue.
He sighed. There was a lot of work he needed to do. He refused to be the useless one for an entire month’s journey. If he was going to become familiar with anyone though, it was going to be the well-dressed one who didn’t reek. “Call me Averil-” He retched, and then groaned. “Aver-” He gagged. He balled his hands into fists. “My name is…Ave-” again, he couldn’t finish.
“Aver-”
“My name-”
“...Is-”
He quickly turned back over the edge and threw up once more — or at least, he went through the motion. At least he could confirm nothing else could come out of his stomach at this point. He slammed his fist on the rail, and practically threw himself onto his feet. “Call me Ave, dammit!” He nearly shouted, with his back turned to Licht. He again sighed shortly and fixed his hair, tucking it behind his ears to get it out of his face. He took a minute to adjust his armor and spun on his heel to face Licht. He pointed at him, still seething from being unable to say his own name.
“We’re going to get along on this trip.” He said, though it came out more like a command than anything else, and Averill was aware of this. It became clear the tone was intentional by an added on “...I hope...I mean, if you want to get along, I’d…” He trailed off, then shrugged. “Just stay there for a moment.” He looked around for his box, and when he found it, curiously enough, another one of those stark black feathers was on top of his box. He knew better than to touch it this time, instead opting to blow it off with his breath. The Thallasy had some strange creatures around, didn’t they?
While he was still fighting not to throw up, his frustration had given him the energy he needed to walk. The more he fought the urge to throw up, the less the urge would come, right? He just needed a good distraction. He lifted his box again and approached, then again, his foot nearly froze in place before he could lift it during his stride. He wanted to think it was Licht, but that hardly made any sense. Maybe his body was just trying to adjust to the wobbling ship. Despite a little hiccup in his step, he continued. “What Lord’s house did you come from?”
The Prophet
SentinelSevn
Although his body had stopped regurgitating the contents of his stomach, it didn’t take away from the fact that he still felt sick. He considered that maybe he wasn’t feeling sick, but maybe the humiliation was what was tying his stomach into knots. He’d have to suck it up and work through it at some point. He imagined someone wouldn’t pick his box up for him, and it’d remain on the ground until he picked himself up and took it himself.
For a moment, his back became warm and tingly for an instant. It usually only happened when someone was behind him, but it proved to be quite unreliable at times. This seemed to be one of instances; who wasn’t behind him at this point? His back was turned to everyone, though for a moment his body overcame his illness momentarily and every cell in his body felt like it wanted to squirm free. It felt like he was being stalked, somehow; a presence he wanted nothing to do with was approaching. Despite not feeling sick, any attempt to move still felt incredibly weak. If he could’ve reached for the spear slung across his back, he would’ve.
However, Averill dismissed his hody’s warning when he felt a few pats on his back. As unwelcome as it was, it wasn’t threatening. In fact, it almost drew his ire. He didn’t ask for any comfort or pity. He was fine!
Fine as in he was done throwing up, seemingly. If he didn’t feel so sick he might have some words for whoever touched him, but he didn’t have the strength to do much at the moment. He didn’t intend on replying, but he couldn’t help but feel a groan building when he heard that the sailors could smell worse, and the groan escaped when he heard the man chuckle behind him. He couldn’t disagree with him though. If he could swap places with anyone else on this ship, not only would he decide to bathe more often, but he would probably find his own predicament pretty funny as well.
At the very least, not a single word that came from the man’s mouth was ill-natured. Averill didn’t ask for anyone’s advice, but he was trying his best to appreciate the gesture. If he lashed out at everyone, even if they meant well, he wouldn’t get very far in much of anything. In his defense though, he wasn’t exactly well socialized with anyone he didn’t need to fight or serve.
His chin was starting to feel sore. Perhaps he really did need to find a cot. Maybe an hour of laying down properly was exactly what he needed. “Just need to make it...through an hour. I hope that’s-” he retched, “all it takes.” Upon hearing the man, Licht, give his name, he threw one of his arms back over onto the ship and half turned to see who he was speaking with — or rather listening. If he was going to introduce himself, he at least wanted to look at who he was speaking with. What’s a name if you can only put it to a voice and not a face?
He managed to turn in time to catch the man heading down the stairs. He wanted to ask what the hell Licht was wearing. He stood out among this crowd, and Averill half expected him to be robbed and kicked in the teeth during the night. Everything about him looked expensive, especially when it came to the blade he kept. He was sure his own Lord had something like that, though he never used it. If Licht was on this boat, it implied he had some sort of skill with it. It also may just mean he was a noble’s foolish son. In fact, just from the way he spoke and carried himself, it looked like that may be the case.
In other news, Averill had a hard time believing this was the presence he felt earlier. His body was only on edge for a moment until its apprehension was overthrown by Averill’s attempt to become angry. It might’ve been that he was just more sick than he actually expected, though that possibility had two meanings to Averill. Either he was too sick for his body to fully realize a dangerous man, or he was too sick to accurately evaluate any kind of danger. Both were an issue.
He sighed. There was a lot of work he needed to do. He refused to be the useless one for an entire month’s journey. If he was going to become familiar with anyone though, it was going to be the well-dressed one who didn’t reek. “Call me Averil-” He retched, and then groaned. “Aver-” He gagged. He balled his hands into fists. “My name is…Ave-” again, he couldn’t finish.
“Aver-”
“My name-”
“...Is-”
He quickly turned back over the edge and threw up once more — or at least, he went through the motion. At least he could confirm nothing else could come out of his stomach at this point. He slammed his fist on the rail, and practically threw himself onto his feet. “Call me Ave, dammit!” He nearly shouted, with his back turned to Licht. He again sighed shortly and fixed his hair, tucking it behind his ears to get it out of his face. He took a minute to adjust his armor and spun on his heel to face Licht. He pointed at him, still seething from being unable to say his own name.
“We’re going to get along on this trip.” He said, though it came out more like a command than anything else, and Averill was aware of this. It became clear the tone was intentional by an added on “...I hope...I mean, if you want to get along, I’d…” He trailed off, then shrugged. “Just stay there for a moment.” He looked around for his box, and when he found it, curiously enough, another one of those stark black feathers was on top of his box. He knew better than to touch it this time, instead opting to blow it off with his breath. The Thallasy had some strange creatures around, didn’t they?
While he was still fighting not to throw up, his frustration had given him the energy he needed to walk. The more he fought the urge to throw up, the less the urge would come, right? He just needed a good distraction. He lifted his box again and approached, then again, his foot nearly froze in place before he could lift it during his stride. He wanted to think it was Licht, but that hardly made any sense. Maybe his body was just trying to adjust to the wobbling ship. Despite a little hiccup in his step, he continued. “What Lord’s house did you come from?”
The Prophet
SentinelSevn
The Prophet
The Loremaster
~Licht Brombeere~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It seemed that his words drove the elf to stand, though precisely what it inspired was lost to him. Was that anger? Pride? Determination? No matter, It got the elf up and hopefully started building rapport he might want later. "An hour? Well, here's to you getting that rest as soon as possible then. I doubt moving crates will take that long, then we should be good to go about as we please. You're almost there." Were words of support correct in this scenario? It seemed that most responded positively to kind words, and Licht half hoped it would work on them too.
“Call me Averil-”
"Averil? That's a nic-"
“Aver-”
"Aver?"
“My name is…Ave-”
"Ave?"
“Aver-”q
"Back to Aver?"
“My name-”
Your name is Aver?"
“...Is-”
"Is?"
“Call me Ave, dammit!”
Licht had to hold back a huff of annoyance with this person. Licht wanted his name, not the sound of gagging and a ruined appetite. Anyways, his name was Ave. Retching and whatnot aside, it was useful to know his name; people like familiarity. No matter how skilled, someone with a spear was useful, and something struck Licht that Ave was not a novice. A smile graced Licht's features, hand falling to the small of his back and stomach in a bow. "A pleasure to meet you, Ave. I hope this month treats you kindly."
The command of friendship caught Licht off guard; his smile flickered against the sudden attempt at authority before Licht regained control upon realizing it wasn't deliberate. Clearing his throat slightly, he answered. "I thought we were getting along already? Well if we weren't, I'd love to start getting along." The well-dressed young man watched Ave move to get his crate, studying his sluggish and sickly movements for information. Ave had this pride to him, but has these occasional bouts being unconfident. He was obviously seasick, but there was a subtle feeling he'd fought more than the average kid bully. Then again, that should be expected given the nature of the job and it's applicants.
Making his way down at a pace the sickened Ave should be able to follow, Licht set down his crate and dusted himself off. "These boxes are much dirtier than I first thought. Take care with yours. Now what was it you asked me? Oh.......right."
Quickly his mind ran through several lies and excuses, based on what he'd observed about Ave himself. It was so clear what he was doing; establishing pecking order. Ave wanted to see whether he was above or below Licht, that much was clear. Right? Of course he was right. In that case, it would be best to spin the truth, to seem lower and yet capable. Blowing hair out of the way, Licht answered the loaded question with yet another smile. "Oh, don't you worry about it. Technically I am not from a house, but rather I come from a family of businessmen and women. Merchants, if you will. I hold no real power outside of my home city in Ironcrown." That should be enough; establish oneself while not pushing them away out of fear of social ranking. "Do you come from a house? I'd hate to have been impolite."
Longhead
hello?
Averill watched Licht put down his crate and dust himself off, and then followed his example. He did a lazy job of dusting himself off, only getting a marginal amount of loose grime off of his front. He did his best to fight down another gag, pounding his chest with his fist as if to beat down the sensation itself. Fighting off his ails distracted Averill from accurately hearing a small portion of the first sentence of Licht’s response.
“A family of merchants, aye?” Averill wasn’t surprised. It certainly explained the air of wealth that surrounded Licht, even past his attire. Averill assumed Licht must’ve had it easy growing up; from the looks of it, his family were successful merchants, or else he would have no power back home and he wouldn’t be so nicely clad. What would’ve provoked someone from a background such as his to take up a quest like this? It couldn’t have been the money promised.
“Do you come from a house?”
Averill furrowed his brow briefly. He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that. At first, he wanted to respond that it depended on who he asked. He didn’t say that for two reasons: One, Licht was asking Averill. Two, even if Licht were to ask Lord Upstart or anyone else in Ironcrown, they’d say no. Then he was going to say he was, but he held back on that answer as well. He’d almost forgotten where he’d come from and what he was, and that made him smirk. “Not exactly. I’d be a self-promoting liar if I even called myself a peasant…”
As Averill realized he might have to elaborate on that if he let that hang in the air too long, he decided to change the subject. “If you don't mind me asking, what brings you to this ship then, if you’re only powerful in Ironcrown? Things would be a lot more comfortable there, wouldn't they?” Averill asked, looking again at the rapier Licht kept. He couldn’t quite get a read on just how powerful Licht was. His clothes were admittedly modest for a noble, but maybe that was the case because Licht, in preparing to leave home, decided to wear something less flashy to attract less attention. Still, the rapier that Licht kept looked a little above a merchant. He might have to ask where he got such a thing.
But he wouldn’t. Licht’s wealth wasn’t any of Averill’s business. Why watch someone else’s pockets when his own are empty? While it was true there was no point in asking about it, he kept the question in the back of his head. He couldn’t help but feel a bit envious too. His own weapon wasn’t poorly made. In fact, it was balanced just for Averill himself. Still, he couldn’t help but want something newer. If he was feeling unwise enough, he might blow all of his reward money on whatever new equipment he could afford.
Averill’s brow furrowed again. It didn’t click at first, but Averill found it a bit strange that Licht — someone who comes from a wealthy family in Ironcrown — was even bothering to speak to Averill. His ears weren’t cropped, nor were they hidden. Why’d he even ask for his name? There’s no way someone could hail from Ironcrown and even be able to stand the sight of Averill. Something was off about Licht; it might not have been the sea sickness that made him apprehensive to approach earlier.
Even just standing around him made his body feel turgid. He opened and closed his hands a few times. It might not be fair to place all of his discomfort on Licht, especially when he was being so nice. Then again, that was part of the reason that Averill felt so uneasy. It felt like trying to pin the problem on the ocean or Licht himself was making him feel sicker, and so he decided not to think about it. The sooner he was able to lie down, the sooner he’d feel better. The captain wouldn’t mind if he only brought one box aboard, would he?
“A family of merchants, aye?” Averill wasn’t surprised. It certainly explained the air of wealth that surrounded Licht, even past his attire. Averill assumed Licht must’ve had it easy growing up; from the looks of it, his family were successful merchants, or else he would have no power back home and he wouldn’t be so nicely clad. What would’ve provoked someone from a background such as his to take up a quest like this? It couldn’t have been the money promised.
“Do you come from a house?”
Averill furrowed his brow briefly. He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that. At first, he wanted to respond that it depended on who he asked. He didn’t say that for two reasons: One, Licht was asking Averill. Two, even if Licht were to ask Lord Upstart or anyone else in Ironcrown, they’d say no. Then he was going to say he was, but he held back on that answer as well. He’d almost forgotten where he’d come from and what he was, and that made him smirk. “Not exactly. I’d be a self-promoting liar if I even called myself a peasant…”
As Averill realized he might have to elaborate on that if he let that hang in the air too long, he decided to change the subject. “If you don't mind me asking, what brings you to this ship then, if you’re only powerful in Ironcrown? Things would be a lot more comfortable there, wouldn't they?” Averill asked, looking again at the rapier Licht kept. He couldn’t quite get a read on just how powerful Licht was. His clothes were admittedly modest for a noble, but maybe that was the case because Licht, in preparing to leave home, decided to wear something less flashy to attract less attention. Still, the rapier that Licht kept looked a little above a merchant. He might have to ask where he got such a thing.
But he wouldn’t. Licht’s wealth wasn’t any of Averill’s business. Why watch someone else’s pockets when his own are empty? While it was true there was no point in asking about it, he kept the question in the back of his head. He couldn’t help but feel a bit envious too. His own weapon wasn’t poorly made. In fact, it was balanced just for Averill himself. Still, he couldn’t help but want something newer. If he was feeling unwise enough, he might blow all of his reward money on whatever new equipment he could afford.
Averill’s brow furrowed again. It didn’t click at first, but Averill found it a bit strange that Licht — someone who comes from a wealthy family in Ironcrown — was even bothering to speak to Averill. His ears weren’t cropped, nor were they hidden. Why’d he even ask for his name? There’s no way someone could hail from Ironcrown and even be able to stand the sight of Averill. Something was off about Licht; it might not have been the sea sickness that made him apprehensive to approach earlier.
Even just standing around him made his body feel turgid. He opened and closed his hands a few times. It might not be fair to place all of his discomfort on Licht, especially when he was being so nice. Then again, that was part of the reason that Averill felt so uneasy. It felt like trying to pin the problem on the ocean or Licht himself was making him feel sicker, and so he decided not to think about it. The sooner he was able to lie down, the sooner he’d feel better. The captain wouldn’t mind if he only brought one box aboard, would he?
Cheesemick
Worst Generation Super Rookie
~Red Raven~
Bartholt woke up pretty late, sleeping though the roosters morning Cockerel and all the many dozens of churches bells that ring though out the city. The hell of a inn he had been staying in the past few months smelled worse than a brothel, probably filthier too. What could he do though? They were letting him stay for free in exchange for playing music every evening. Glancing over to the lunar calendar he realized today was the day of the quest, he had better hurry! He grabbed everything he could carry on his back making sure to take his lyre, in his pack.
In the early hours of the inn it was mostly empty expect for the few regular old man who drink though out the whole day, not the most appreciate of music but mostly good company none the less. Bartholts clothes still had a few wine strains from the night before, it was prefect for fitting in with sailors. He took a few wine skins from behind the counter paying the innkeeper, he took a deep gulp of the purple liquid almost emptying a whole skin. Now ready to start his day he walked out the inn out to the slums.
He was careful not to bump into anyone in the streets. Conglomerate were a touchy type of people by and large. In this city, you could tell somebody's station to within a whisker by the amount of embroidery on their coat, or dress, but men and woman alike, whether salt merchants or ribbon hawkers, wore long belt knives in this part of town. Bertholt always tried to avoid fighting, though his luck did him little good there. He still walked very carefully.
Just when he was starting to get hungry from no breakfast a woman with a tray hung from a strap around her neck shouted out into the streets. "meat pies! Made from the finest beef in all the Conglomerate!" Bartholt mostly took her word for it, he had given up trying to figure what 'meat' was exactly in these meat pies after the first week of asking. In any case the meat pie was tasty and still hot. He walked on along the crowded streets juggling the pie and wiping greasy juice from his chin. Maybe it was ox tail? Not it was too tender for that, perhaps it wasn't even beef at all it could of been chimekn, Bartholt loved chimken and would have much rather been eating that than this mystery pie. He honestly had a better chance at finding his lost brother than finding out what meat this was. He had been in the city for two years now thinking that if Brendon was hiding anywhere it would of been here. This place was far away from the rest of courts and everyone here was always seeking knowledge but in his time singing at every tavern he could find, still no word of his brother not here at least. He glanced down to his sundial on his wrist was realized he was very late, he start to run to trying to make it in time.
The first thing he heard when he reached the docks was a man throwing up overboard a ship he glanced up at the man with his tongue still drooling out of his mouth. "Its tongue!" Bartholt shouted out finally knowing what meat this was, wolfing down the last of the meat pie and wiping his hand on his coat. "Call me Ave, dammnit!" He shouted out to the waves. Bartholt wasn't sure if he was already hallucinating, it happened to sailors often who couldn't focus on sailing letting their minds drift out to the sea. Luckily it looked as if this elf wasn't insane and was just talking to another crewmate a well dressed one, he could be the captain but Bartholt doubted it. He still had yet to set foot on a ship that tried to kick him off harder than any horse smaller than a war horse, his huge size always made horses scared. By the gods how he missed riding, sailing would have to be the next best thing.
The ship was just about to leave already starting to sail off. He took one last look over his shoulder to the church infested city, he wasn't going to miss it much. It was going to have to be now or never. With a great leap of faith, and little gale magic to put some spring in his step he jumped for the boat. He was a little dishevelled but in one piece. The great slash of his huge body and winds he summoned slamming him into the deck. He though he had broken every bone in his body. He hadn't even negotiated with the captain about his pay but like it or not he was now stuck here on this ship at the captains whims. At least he wasn't wearing any armor otherwise he would grinded his bones into dusts. With nothing but pain in his body he got up form the deck.
From below the decks he could still hear the poor elf upchucking. Bartholt has always been altruistic he took out one of his wine skins taking down a gulp first as is principle when giving someone a drink, peaking his head below the deck, throwing the wine skin over to the elf. "To Tamban may they guide our sails. Names Red, friend. Most sailor need a drink before they set sail its natural, keep the rest too just in case." The wine was the cheapest stuff this side of the Ruins of the Eclipse but to be fair nothing had compared to the wine he drank back in Hend. The human on the other hand, who he was talking to, had very sharp eyes. He would of seemed to lordly to ever be on ship if Bartholt didn't have experience with many sharp eyed nobles, his own brother being one of them. The type that aren't afraid to get their hand dirty the kind who even like it too. "Where's the captain? I'm not even sure how much were being paid for this!" He knew these merchant captain types as soon as you step on their ship its a liable contract to however long suits them. Many poor fools have been crew members for life for that one simple mistake. He had just made it in time, but at what cost?
Longhead
The Prophet
SentinelSevn
Last edited:
Longhead
hello?
Not long after Averill posed his question, a loud impact sounded off above him on the top deck, the force of which being great enough to no doubt be the reason behind the ship rocking a great deal more. “A great deal more,” in this case, was subjective. Any measure of extra motion added to the ship’s rocking was too much for Averill, and feeling his stomach twist itself into knots was unpleasant enough for him to place a hand on his stomach. He inhaled deeply through his teeth, sudden discomfort apparent on his face while he fought down a demon of a gag.
He groaned and shut his eyes. He managed to open them fast enough to perceive the water skin flying at him, and fortunately he was able to just barely catch it without spilling too much of it on himself. The first thing he noticed was the stark contrast of scent between the air around him and what was coming out of the skin. A beat later, Averill realized that there wasn’t water in the skin, but wine. “Huh?”
"To Tamban may they guide our sails. Names Red, friend. Most sailor need a drink before they set sail, it's natural, keep the rest too just in case."
Averill looked towards the stairs. Immediately a corner of his mouth began to sag in a half frown. At first, he thought he was looking at a red-skinned orc. It was a fair assumption, considering hardly any other race came in such a color, but the longer he looked, the more he realized that might not have been the case. While he was as big as an orc, he wasn’t quite ugly in the same way — still mildly unappealing to look at, but not because of an underbite. “I supposed if they let me onboard, they can let just anyone on here…” He mumbled to himself. He was no longer interested in wine.
"Where's the captain? I'm not even sure how much we're being paid for this!"
“Uh...captain’s nowhere around here. Try somewhere else; if I were the captain, I’d probably be above deck overseeing the operations of his sailors, making sure we’re primed to set off and other important things of the like — not down below the deck with his cargo.” He said, voice dripping with a condescending and ill-masked sarcasm. “Why even take the job if you don’t even know the pay?”
Averill held back a sneer. Surely the man was jesting when he said his name was Red, right? He couldn't fathom how unimaginative his parents had to have been to give him such a simple name. If he had come out yellow would they have named him so? Maybe it was a moniker separate from his actual given name. If that was the case, the fault was no longer on his parents, but rather on whoever decided on such a name. It was likely Red himself. He sealed the wine skin and set it aside. Someone else could have it.
Admittedly, Averill didn’t know the pay either, but that was only because he didn’t care to know. He had no money, and anything would be better than what he had now, or rather the lack of money he had now. That being said, he knew his reason for not knowing what he was being paid, but that didn’t really mean he was interested in Sir Dimwit’s reason. “Actually, don’t bother answering that...Thanks for the drink, I guess.” He stared down into the skin, as if seriously considering taking even a sip from it.
Averill looked back up as if he expected the man to disappear not even a full three seconds after he’d effectively told him to go away. What was he even supposed to be if not an orc? The only thing he could even imagine coming in red would be the bug people from the southwest. He wanted to comment on his confusion, something along the lines of: “I didn’t know your kind came in red, whatever you are.” But he bit his tongue, not wanting to extend the interaction anymore than he had to.
He groaned and shut his eyes. He managed to open them fast enough to perceive the water skin flying at him, and fortunately he was able to just barely catch it without spilling too much of it on himself. The first thing he noticed was the stark contrast of scent between the air around him and what was coming out of the skin. A beat later, Averill realized that there wasn’t water in the skin, but wine. “Huh?”
"To Tamban may they guide our sails. Names Red, friend. Most sailor need a drink before they set sail, it's natural, keep the rest too just in case."
Averill looked towards the stairs. Immediately a corner of his mouth began to sag in a half frown. At first, he thought he was looking at a red-skinned orc. It was a fair assumption, considering hardly any other race came in such a color, but the longer he looked, the more he realized that might not have been the case. While he was as big as an orc, he wasn’t quite ugly in the same way — still mildly unappealing to look at, but not because of an underbite. “I supposed if they let me onboard, they can let just anyone on here…” He mumbled to himself. He was no longer interested in wine.
"Where's the captain? I'm not even sure how much we're being paid for this!"
“Uh...captain’s nowhere around here. Try somewhere else; if I were the captain, I’d probably be above deck overseeing the operations of his sailors, making sure we’re primed to set off and other important things of the like — not down below the deck with his cargo.” He said, voice dripping with a condescending and ill-masked sarcasm. “Why even take the job if you don’t even know the pay?”
Averill held back a sneer. Surely the man was jesting when he said his name was Red, right? He couldn't fathom how unimaginative his parents had to have been to give him such a simple name. If he had come out yellow would they have named him so? Maybe it was a moniker separate from his actual given name. If that was the case, the fault was no longer on his parents, but rather on whoever decided on such a name. It was likely Red himself. He sealed the wine skin and set it aside. Someone else could have it.
Admittedly, Averill didn’t know the pay either, but that was only because he didn’t care to know. He had no money, and anything would be better than what he had now, or rather the lack of money he had now. That being said, he knew his reason for not knowing what he was being paid, but that didn’t really mean he was interested in Sir Dimwit’s reason. “Actually, don’t bother answering that...Thanks for the drink, I guess.” He stared down into the skin, as if seriously considering taking even a sip from it.
Averill looked back up as if he expected the man to disappear not even a full three seconds after he’d effectively told him to go away. What was he even supposed to be if not an orc? The only thing he could even imagine coming in red would be the bug people from the southwest. He wanted to comment on his confusion, something along the lines of: “I didn’t know your kind came in red, whatever you are.” But he bit his tongue, not wanting to extend the interaction anymore than he had to.
Cheesemick
Worst Generation Super Rookie
~Red Raven~
It was hard for Bartholt to get a good look at the elfling before, and still being under the dark light below deck but he was a smaller thing than Bartholt though, well small for Bartholt quite tall for an elf. Even the strange sharp eyed lordling to the elflings side was a big bigger, Bartholt still wasn't sure what to make of him.
“Uh...captain’s nowhere around here. Try somewhere else; if I were the captain, I’d probably be above deck overseeing the operations of his sailors, making sure we’re primed to set off and other important things of the like — not down below the deck with his cargo.” Bartholt was use to dealing who people looking down on him still this elfling was having a bad day not getting his sea legs yet, Bartholt would go easy on him. Hes not nearly half as bad as Lord Steffon Dabell, he was a even smaller elfing than this one and twice as nasty but Bartholt didn't have to get along with that Elfing he only needed de saddle him in a joust. Five lances the elfing had smashed into Bartholts side but he refused to go down, in the sixth joust the elfing was so tired Barholt merely lifted him from his saddle and removed his helmet meaning he had won his horse. That elfing killed his own horse before Bartholt got it out of spite. Sadly this elfing he would have to get along with.
“Why even take the job if you don’t even know the pay?” “Actually, don’t bother answering that...Thanks for the drink, I guess.”
"If the captain is above deck with the sailors and the important things, than what does that make you? An unimportant deckhand?" Bartholt said plainly and matter of fact, there was no malice or ill-will in his voice, he was genuinely curious if he just arrived moment before he did for the quest. "Starting today I have willing boarded this ship and that makes us both sailors and companions." Bartholt walked down below deck slowly heading towards the elf, his huge size made him have to duck his head. When he reached the Elfing he squatted to his knees to look him eye to eye. "But I'm just a simple bard so I wouldn't worry if I was you. Elfing" Bartholt said with a blank stare. His bulking scar covered hands laying gently resting on legs. "So lets be friends and have some fun alright? You do have manners, you're a eloquent elfing but in my experience eloquent elfings have more in common with savage beasts than do they other elflings." His voice changed to a melodic and playful the voice of a what a bard should be. "I should go back above deck where all those important people go." He still said in a melodic tone as he got up walking back above deck to find the captain.
It seems Bartholt overestimated the amount of time he had till the boat left the docks no matter though he leaned over the side of the of the ship to feel the breeze, the air wasn't salty enough for him yet. He would have to wait till the captain showed up, to finally find out his pay.
Longhead
Longhead
hello?
Averill
Averill fixed to ready his spear as the red man came down the stairs. He was a little too sick to do any kind of fighting, but he wasn’t planning on lying down and taking anything. That said, with his mind being effectively scrambled, he was having a hard time gauging the giant’s intent as he approached. He spoke levelly, but he got the feeling that his words had a bit of bite to them. He wasn’t going to draw his weapon off of a few measly words, but at the same time he wasn’t going to let Red get away with thinking he could talk to Averill in such a way; especially not in front of his company.
How dare he? Deciding to go back above deck to be with the “important people,” as if he belongs with such a group. He wouldn’t know an important person if he were standing right in front of him, and if he had any sense of what was important he wouldn’t waste his time with such a menial question; especially if it was information so easily acquired by just paying attention to the job description when it was posted. Was he not expecting someone to give him a bit of flak as a consequence?
He needed to know his place. Clearly “Red”, as he called himself, thought way too much of himself.
“Companions? As if.” He muttered. He looked at Licht. “Excuse me, Licht. I'll return shortly.” He picked up the wine skin, stood, and followed Red up stairs, finding him staring out at the water. Wordlessly, he approached from the side purposefully so that Red might see him approach. He wasn’t nearly tall enough to get his face, so he didn’t even bother trying to make himself look bigger.
“I’ve got an issue with you, you sunburnt, ugly, ass of a giant, so listen well.” He boldly pointed a finger out to point at him to clearly accentuate who he was talking to. “I don’t know you, so I’m going to assume this once that you were jesting and have an awful sense of humor. But you dare call me unimportant again, and I’ll show you just how savage of a beast I can be.” He spat on Red’s shoes, intending for it to be his parting “gift” until he realized he had more to address.
“And if you ever find yourself so bold to assume that you know me well enough to say I have manners, use this as a reminder to correct yourself.” He uncorked the wine skin and emptied the entire thing on Red, splashing it in his face. “You don’t know a thing about me. Take your wine back, and keep the rest too, just in case.” He said, repeating what Red had said to him when he first gave him the wine. He dropped the wine skin at his feet. “And don’t insult me by insisting we be friends while offering me this cheap trash ever again.”
Averill stopped there, however he didn’t turn tail and leave. He instead took a few steps back and stared at him with eyes that didn’t betray even a hint of backing down. Averill was actively welcoming a rebuttal. Sharp eyes that wouldn’t dull easily from pushback. He’d fought people of similar size before plenty of times. With any luck, it wouldn’t come to drawing weapons. No doubt that kind of fighting would get someone kicked off the ship, but if he had to be thrown into the water over a matter like this then so be it.
Cheesemick
The Prophet
SentinelSevn
Cheesemick
Worst Generation Super Rookie
~Red Raven~
Bartholt was pondering just who that Elfing could have been before he ended up a deckhand. He didn't look like a lordling but he sure could of fooled him, he was talking to that other strange lordling was this some odd coincidence that three distance lordlings have found their paths all joining on the same ship? Was everyone on this ship an hidden lordling? He could only imagine who the captain might be if he did this intentionally. One thing was for sure neither of them was from Hend or he would of recognized them, Brendon made sure to teach him all the princes and princesses of Hend and who hated who. He told him to use their own hated against them but Barholt wasn't good at any of that all he needed to do was intimidate who he was told, he just wanted to play his music. He remembered the sigils of houses more than anything.
He turned to see the elfling approach from his side as if the elfing was a small animal like a bird trying to sneak up on a hippo. Ah here was the salty air Barholt was expecting he couldn't help but smile, he just found the elfing to silly. “I’ve got an issue with you, you sunburnt, ugly, ass of a giant, so listen well.” Barholt was often splattered with alcohol or food or even spat on even as a child by other little children. The elfling certainly was childish but Barholt just still couldn't take him seriously he was like a small bird, a chimekn, chirping away. He pitied the elfling he must of been someone in great power once who for fall from grace often try to substance their importance's like this. Bartholt had seen it many times when nobles fell out of power.
“And if you ever find yourself so bold to assume that you know me well enough to say I have manners, use this as a reminder to correct yourself.” Barholt almost laughed there when he splashed the wine it was just like with Lord Steffon Dabell and his horse, Barholt was expecting him to do this, he says he's doesn't know him but he does such predicable things. “You don’t know a thing about me. Take your wine back, and keep the rest too, just in case.” Barholt again felt sorry him he wasn't going to make much friends with that attitude especially since all the sailors above deck have seen now how childish he was. Exchange drinks is the most buddy thing you can do as sailors the other sailors wouldn't like that, it also was a toast to Tamban. “And don’t insult me by insisting we be friends while offering me this cheap trash ever again.”
After that display the elfing backed off slowly, he really was like a chimken. Barholt couldn't help laugh a hearty bellowing laugh, he though he would save the elfing some poise in front of the other sailors, he also just found him funny. "Oh no you spilled the wine, not to worry friend I always have more should you need it." He grabbed a cloth from his pack and started to wipe the wine off the deck completely ignoring the elfing, he expected him to leave three seconds after he was done talking. To his surprise he was still there. "Why are you still here?" Above the deck, the elfing still neither denied or confirmed he was a deckhand so Barholt just assumed he was and that he other things to do. It might seem like he was mocking him but he was just genuine. He was a simple bard he really didn't want to fight anyone, especially someone who couldn't even stand straight.
Longhead
Last edited:
Heterological
Search it up
The morning had been slow. The church bells in the distance had long since stopped ringing, yet Karav was still wiping the fatigue from his eyes. It was an important day; he was embarking on a trip for quite a bit of cash. Getting on board the ship before it set sail was crucial. But the light piercing through the blinds was faint, the air was cool, and his sheets (though quite rough) were warm. Hence how he exited the inn a bit late, walking briskly to make up for lost time.
His path was rarely blocked. Karav's stormy tattoos, his height, and the sword sheath attached to his belt were all incentives to stay out of his way. He had passed the crest of the hill and stopped suddenly. The port was there, along with a rapidly-dwindling number of cargo boxes that little tiny men were slowly moving to the ship. Assured now that his ride had not left him, he had resumed at a leisurely walk, strolling down the gentle slope. He had been tempted to start whistling, but that might've been just a little too much.
Instead, he had put his hands behind his back and, joining the now-much-larger sailors, helped load the ship with goods. Once that business was all done, Karav had gotten on board and stowed his bag in one of the living quarters, a tiny space barely large enough for him. Now he was watching quite the interesting interaction between a fiery elf without any legs and a seemingly idiotic Nebosi, though red-skinned, for whatever reason. The tattoos on him were definitely centered upon Tamban. Quite fun. The mischief-maker.
Karav walked over near the lower deck entrance, where the two were arguing. If you could even call it that. Red was a pacifist, it seemed, or maybe just not willing to fight an elf three heads shorter than him with an inability to stand up straight for more than three seconds. He did feel a little bad and could relate. Occasionally the boat turned one way as Karav leaned the other, and he would need to reach out a hand against the rail to prevent falling.
In his current state, the elf had no chance, so Karav decided to intervene. He was sure that the tiny guy would appreciate it the next day when he wasn't severely injured. Or worse, embarrassed. He waved a hand in between the two of them.
"Let's not get into brawls just yet. We have four weeks until this is over; I'm sure the captain wouldn't appreciate it if there was fighting within the first hour." He looked at the elf pointedly. "How 'bout you go underdeck and collect yourself for a bit, eh? You should probably get some rest."
His path was rarely blocked. Karav's stormy tattoos, his height, and the sword sheath attached to his belt were all incentives to stay out of his way. He had passed the crest of the hill and stopped suddenly. The port was there, along with a rapidly-dwindling number of cargo boxes that little tiny men were slowly moving to the ship. Assured now that his ride had not left him, he had resumed at a leisurely walk, strolling down the gentle slope. He had been tempted to start whistling, but that might've been just a little too much.
Instead, he had put his hands behind his back and, joining the now-much-larger sailors, helped load the ship with goods. Once that business was all done, Karav had gotten on board and stowed his bag in one of the living quarters, a tiny space barely large enough for him. Now he was watching quite the interesting interaction between a fiery elf without any legs and a seemingly idiotic Nebosi, though red-skinned, for whatever reason. The tattoos on him were definitely centered upon Tamban. Quite fun. The mischief-maker.
Karav walked over near the lower deck entrance, where the two were arguing. If you could even call it that. Red was a pacifist, it seemed, or maybe just not willing to fight an elf three heads shorter than him with an inability to stand up straight for more than three seconds. He did feel a little bad and could relate. Occasionally the boat turned one way as Karav leaned the other, and he would need to reach out a hand against the rail to prevent falling.
In his current state, the elf had no chance, so Karav decided to intervene. He was sure that the tiny guy would appreciate it the next day when he wasn't severely injured. Or worse, embarrassed. He waved a hand in between the two of them.
"Let's not get into brawls just yet. We have four weeks until this is over; I'm sure the captain wouldn't appreciate it if there was fighting within the first hour." He looked at the elf pointedly. "How 'bout you go underdeck and collect yourself for a bit, eh? You should probably get some rest."
Kloudy
The Lore Savant
A Long Voyage
(Aphusa - Lemuria Main Deck)
(Aphusa - Lemuria Main Deck)
"ALLLLLLLLLLLLL HAAAAAAAAANDS ON DECK!!!"
Once everyone had swiftly assembled themselves in the middle of the maindeck, Captain Barclay banged a wooden mallet rapidly on the nearby railing like a judge calling for order. He stood a good two men above the rest on a higher section of the deck, looking down at his assorted manpower with a fiery steel in his eyes. It seemed he meant to assert himself.
"Now, as I said earlier - I am Captain Barclay and you will address me as such! If I hear anything short of a sir, your ill-gotten hides are getting slung overboard for the Auranians to drag under." He smiled mirthlessly and banged his hammer again, causing a couple young sailors to jump in their boots.
"Captain drannidshit more like..." A few sailors snickered and nudged each other quiet along with the offender, but to their luck Captain Barclay seemed not to notice.
"We will be on this ship for four weeks, that's a month for those of you who have shit-for-brains. The contents of those boxes you all spent this morning lifting are more valuable than your lives, to me. Breaking, losing and thieving them will all earn you a flogging from yours truly." Another hammer thump, as sharp and irritating as ever.
"I don't expect much from any of you, so keep yer heads down and haul what I say to haul and coin will be in yer pockets before long," He turned away before seeming to remember something, "And don't go in my personal chambers. You'll get more than a flogging for that, mark my words."
With his particularly inspiring and eloquent speech to the crew, he waved a hand to gesture a dismissal and took his place at the helm of the ship. You could quite clearly see that the captain was certainly in love with his ship from the way he stroked the tanned wood of the wheel. The sheer adoration in his eyes was more than enough to send shivers down your spine at the thought of even catching a splinter off the deck. The small crowd disperses and sailors get to their duties tying off ropes and moving boxes of miscellaneous things around. You aren't a sailor and thus don't help them, instead content to wait until needed. As the 'muscle' of this particular voyage, your main role is to carry things and wait for trouble to arrive. And you'd already done all the carrying required thus far.
The ship began pulling away from the port, departing its occupants from the city of Aphusa.
Longhead
The Prophet
Cheesemick
