Calm Waters

by **Maro** on September 28th, 2014, 4:59 pm

Calm Waters

23rd of Fall, 514 AV

The air was still cool outside. Maro had woken before dawn, and the chilled air of early autumn was still crisp. He had never been fishing in the early morning hours and wanted to get to his favorite hole before another early riser claimed it for himself.

He gathered his fishing supplies and was about to head out the door when a voice from the bed woke him. “Maro, were you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

Turning and looking at the empty bed, Maro waited for Autumn to materialize before he responded. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Autumn smiled. “You know I don’t sleep.”

Maro nodded. “Yeah. I just didn’t know if you wanted to be alone. Usually, you get up when I do.”

Her eyes drifted to the window and seemed suddenly interested in something outside. “I was just thinking about something.”

“What sort of something?”

“Just thinking.”

Maro laughed. “Fine. Be that way. I’ll see you when I get back.”

He started for the door again, but Autumn stood out of the bed, blinked across the room, and ended up between him and the door. “You’re not getting away that easily.”

“Have a good day, Autumn.”

She hugged him and kissed his cheek. Cold swept across his face from the contact of her lips. “Be careful. Don’t go too far out of town.”

She meant what she said. Her concern was genuine, Maro knew that much, but he could tell Autumn’s mind was elsewhere. She seemed distant, and Maro could tell something was bothering her. Maro tried to figure out what it was just by watching her, but her expression betrayed nothing.

“Be careful,” she told him again.

Maro laughed again. “I’ll be careful.”

He opened the door and closed it behind him, as Autumn had trouble moving any heavy objects with projection. With the door closed, he was suddenly alone, and the emptiness of the early morning was refreshing. Black Rock had never felt so empty, at least not to Maro. A few ghosts were meandering about, but no living soul bothered him as he walked through town, the slap of his feet against the ground the only sound that accompanied him.

At the very edge of the city, Maro encountered a single Omen standing in the middle of the street. Stopping for a moment, Maro stared curiously at the black-robed figure. It stared back, unmoving and unspeaking, giving no sign as to if it was even alive. Everything about these servants of Dira fascinated Maro. From their silence and their simple gestures for communication to their shepherd’s crooks and jackal masks, the Omens were an enigma, one that Maro felt connected to. Perhaps it was the fact that he himself was a jackal. Perhaps it was something more.

Maro tilted his head to the side as he regarded the figure. The Omen stared a moment more, then reciprocated. With a nod, Maro continued on as the creature watched him exit town.

As soon as he was out of town, Maro made straight for the river that emptied into the Black Marsh. When he arrived though, there were already three people fishing in the short stretch he usually used. It was where the river widened into several slow-moving, deep pools just before entering the marsh. It was a prime fishing hole. Maro never understood why, but he always had plenty of success at this spot.

Begrudgingly, Maro put on a smile and waved at the other fishermen as he walked farther upstream. He noticed two of them, old pros that had been fishing almost as long as Autumn had been dead, but the other was new. He’d have to introduce himself some time. Happy with how well their morning fishing was going, they each gave him a jovial wave in return and went back to their fishing. As soon as he looked away, Maro heard a fish strike and one of the lines go taut.

He walked up the riverside until he had passed several bends and the other fishermen were long out of sight. Tripping over boulders, the river was faster-moving here, but Maro figured he would try his luck. He was already farther out of town than he wanted to be. Setting down his tackle box and rod, he filled his bucket halfway with water.

Having brought both of his bolas with him, he left one hooked into his belt and set the other down at his side. The obsidian knife was also in a small leather scabbard at his hip. The stories that he always heard of creatures from the Marsh and the wilds put him on edge every time he left the city. His weapons were going to be close at hand, if he needed them. That much he was sure of.

He had never had to use his weapons on a living creature, and he hoped he would never have to. Still, if it came to it, he would defend himself. Maro sent a quick prayer to Dira to keep him safe. It was an odd prayer, requesting Her, the Goddess of Death itself, to keep him alive, but he felt a comfort in knowing that Death was watching over him.

When his nerves had finally calmed enough for him to focus on the task at hand, he strung the fishing line through the guides and selected a small glass bobber. Stringing it on to the line, he then selected a hook and strung the line through its eye. Twisting the free end of the line around the other several times, he finally closed it with a simple double knot and put a worm on. Then, he cast the line out into the river. The usual plop of the bobber hitting the water was lost to the bubbling of the small rapids.

The bobber was swept downstream instantly in the fast current. Maro lost sight of the colored glass for a moment but caught sight of it again as the river swept it up against the bank farther down. Maro’s shoulders slumped as he began to reel in his line and walked downstream to meet it partway. He knew better than to try and reel it in along the bank. That was just a good way to get snagged on brush or submerged objects.

Once his line had been reeled in, he decided to give it another go.

by **Maro** on September 29th, 2014, 2:44 am

Calm Waters

The bobber hit the water, once again the normal plop being stifled by the rushing of the current. This time though, he had cast farther out across the river, and the current swept it toward the opposite bank. Maro couldn’t see it at all and waited several moments before he tried to reel the line back in. After only a few short reels, the line snagged and pulled taut.

He could tell it wasn’t a strike from a fish. No. He had gotten snagged on something on the other side of the river. Tugging on the line several times, he tried to free the hook but eventually gave up, realizing that the line was firmly anchored to whatever it had encountered on the other side of the river. Bracing his fishing pole between a tree trunk and one of its branches, Maro sighed as he looked out at the line as it hovered over the water and entered the river a few feet from the opposite bank.

“Damn it,” he whispered at the water.

He shrugged. There was nothing else to do but retrieve the hook or cut the line. Sighing and swearing once more, Maro began stripping. When he was completely naked, he picked up one of his bolas, wrapped it around his forearm, and waded into the river. He chose one of the slowest parts of the river, but it was also the deepest. Slowly the river began to reach higher and higher on his body, first coming up to his knees, then his waist, and finally his chest. As the river neared his shoulders and he was forced to stand on the tips of his toes, the current became too powerful to merely just wade across.

The steady power of the river lifted him off the tips of his toes and began to carry him downstream. Panicking, as he had never swum before, Maro lashed out with his legs and arms to try to propel himself across the river. The uncoordinated efforts failed him, and he took a deep breath just before he went under. Luckily, he sank the few inches to the bottom and was able to use the riverbed to kick toward the far bank. He tried again to propel himself with his arms, but the heavy weight of the bolas on the one arm made his efforts wasted.

Maro was about to run out of air when his feet found the bottom of the river once more. Rather than kick for the opposite shore, he kicked straight up. His head broke the surface of the water, and he took a deep breath. His arms pumped up and down in front of him in a hideous attempt to swim, but the sloppy performance still did the trick. Managing to stay afloat, he kicked toward the opposite shore and made slow progress until he was able to stand once more.

Looking upstream, he realized the current had swept him down farther than he wanted to be. As he stumbled out of the water, he unwrapped the bolas from his arm. He was still going to be cautious. With the bolas hanging loosely from his hand, he wandered back upstream until he found where the line went under the water. The water was clear, and Maro could easily see what he had snagged his hook on. At the bottom of the river was a large river rock covered in moss. The hook was caught up in the slimy, green substance, but Maro had it freed in no time.

Tossing it back across the river, he wandered back down to an even longer stretch of slow-moving water and crossed there, his slow, uncoordinated paddle moving him across the river at a snail’s pace. When he finally reached the shore, Maro was exhausted. Flopping down in the long grass that pervaded the riverbank, he rested for a few chimes before he stood up again, returned to his fishing rod, reeled it in, and dressed. This hole wasn't working.

He’d have to try another.

by **Maro** on October 5th, 2014, 3:03 pm

Calm Waters

After dumping out his bucket of water, Maro wandered farther upstream, clutching his bolas even more tightly in his free hand. It wasn’t often that he ventured far out of town, since his closest friend never even seemed to leave the house much, let alone the city.

Not bothering to stop and check the river where the current was swift and rapids showed, he continued upstream until he came upon a wide bend in the river where the current slowed to a near standstill and had carved a deep hole in the river bottom. There were bound to be fish here, and even if there weren’t, at least his line wouldn’t get swept downstream so quickly and wouldn’t get caught up along the shore.

The area surrounding the river here was pleasant. Along the shore, long grass dominated as the brush swept farther back, giving him plenty of room to cast and work. Close to the shore on his side, Maro saw several fish milling about lazily in the depths. Filling the bucket once more, he checked his line to make sure it wasn’t tangled or knotted. When he was sure his line was set to go, he swung his hand backwards, then forward, slinging the bobber and hook out across the wide river. There was a distinct plop as the bobber hit the silent, crystal clear water.

Maro was about to sit down to wait when his bobber suddenly bounced and was pulled under. Immediately, he jumped back up to his feet and took hold of the reel. Reeling in slightly, he stopped when the fish began to fight back. He let the reel go and felt the line thrum back out. Catching the line once more, the powerful thrashing jerked the pole about as the hooked fish kept switching directions. Slowly, he reeled the fish closer and closer to shore until he had it along the bank. Lifting his pole up, he extracted the fish from the water and laid it in the grass.

His bolas was already wrapped around his hand, so he unwrapped it and spun it in a tight circle at his side. The air hummed as the leather cords sliced through it, and the fish flopped weakly on the ground, eager for water to breathe once more. With a sudden drop, Maro brought the steel balls down on the fish's head, and its struggling stopped. He placed the fish in the bucket and baited his line once more.

His next three casts produced similar results. Morning fishing was far more productive than midday.

by **Maro** on October 13th, 2014, 12:40 am

Calm Waters

Maro cast his line in again. This time was not as successful as the last. In fact, it took him another ten casts before he got another bite. The fish that struck this time was more powerful than any he had caught so far this morning, which likely meant it was bigger. Worried his line would snap, he let the line loose as the fish pulled and reeled it back in whenever the tension stopped. This little battle between himself and the fish slowly moved downstream, Maro’s patience never wearing thin and the fish’s strength and endurance never waning. Every so often, the fish would burst out of the water, thrashing against the hook that seemed to be trying to force him a certain direction. The beads of water, the scales of the fish, and the line of his fishing pole all caught the light, dancing together in early morning sun.

One of these times, the fish darted toward the shore after it hit the water. Eager to bring the fish in, Maro reeled quickly to try to keep the line taut, but he was too eager. With a dazzling display of its aquatic athleticism, the fish switched directions rapidly. The line went taut for an instant before it slackened as the fish snapped the line. Dejectedly, Maro pinned the line to the rod with his finger and reeled it in, keeping the line tight on the spool. The last thing he needed was for his reel to get a bird’s nest of a knot in it.

When the line was all the way in, Maro examined the break and found it had happened right where he had tied his knot. He’d have to get some advice from the pros about how they kept that from happening. And he’d have to practice more.

Damn! he thought to himself. That would have been a nice fish to land. Next time, maybe.

He turned back toward his bucket and tackle gear and saw something moving toward them from the brush that had receded from the water’s edge. It took Maro a moment to identify what the moving object was. The distance and the height of the grass didn’t help, but creature’s size and color eventually gave it away. A fox. The crafty, little animal was out to steal his fish, but Maro wasn’t about to let that happen.

His hand had gone to the bolas at his belt the instant he had seen movement. Unwrapping the cords, he held the weapon by its knot and began to swing it gently, but he wasn’t going to use it, not if he didn’t have to.

“Hey.” He yelled as loud as he could. His voice wasn’t very big. The fox stopped and looked at Maro but showed no signs of fear. It judged Maro to be too far away to be any threat, continued over to his bucket, and began to inspect the fish for the one it wanted to take.

Angrily, Maro whirled the bolas faster in his hand until the air thrummed as the leather cords cut through it. It wasn’t the most accurate way of the throwing the bolas, but the extra speed certainly gave him more power and distance on his throw. Not truly wanting to harm the creature, he aimed to miss narrowly and let the bolas fly. Maro did miss but not as narrowly as he would have liked. The bolas buzzed several feet over the fox’s head and crashed into the grass.

The red-furred creature dropped low to the ground, its ears pinned back against its skull and its hackles raised. Maro started running toward his bucket, waving his pole about in the air above him and yelling the entire time. He was sure he looked like an idiot, but with the previous threat of the bolas, the strategy worked. The fox took off into the brush, its tail tucked between its legs, and Maro stopped shouting and walked the rest of the way.

The morning continued successfully. He landed several more fish, but as the sun rose into the sky above, the fish stopped biting. Convinced he had enough to sell, he followed the river back to the Archway and greeted the fellow fishermen who were still there, this time a bit more happily. In the market, he took his fish to a vendor, collected his pay, and headed home to see Autumn.

She was waiting for him, as she always seemed to be when he left. He smiled when he saw her smiling face.

“How was fishing?”

“It was good. I caught quite a bit. Morning time is definitely the time to go. A fox tried to run off with one of my fishes though.”

Autumn laughed. That was a welcome sound. He had purposely left out the part about nearly drowning. There was no need to worry her. She had seemed distant this morning, maybe even troubled, and that was something he didn’t want for her. Fortunately, he was home, and there was no need for him to go out for the rest of the day. He talked with her all morning long, through the afternoon, and deep into the evening. Always nagging at the back of his mind was the need to ask her what had been wrong that morning, but the opportunity never arose. Autumn seemed to have forgotten or handled it, and Maro felt it would be cruel to ask her about it now. He’d figure it out another time.

For now, he’d enjoy her company, her stories, and her laughter.