32nd of Spring 516AV
He was lucky to be alive.
A week ago the schooner from Alvadas had set sail towards Riverfall, packed to the brim with cargo and people. All that was left of the ship now was a ruptured skeleton. Like a shark’s tooth the cliff had punctured the hull of the ship, zipping it apart. One of the masts had snapped in two, the other had toppled to the side, its sail soaking in the water. Some of the cargo had sunk, but many crates still floated in the water surrounding the ship. The same could not be said of the many passengers the schooner had harbored. Out of the two dozen, including the crew, only four had survived.
The captain, Grynt Mosey, had survived. All six foot of him, even his patchy beard. He was an old man. His ship was old, his beard was old, and all his remaining teeth were old. He possessed the breath that could only emanate from a sailor: a smell of spirits and the remains of his last meal. The means of Grynt’s survival had consisted of abandoning ship immediately after he’d steered it upon the cliffs. The weather had been rough. Too rough for the old man on his old ship. The wind had seized the sail, the sea had boiled that night. Foaming waves had crashed aboard, dragging the inattentive overboard and into dark depths. The bottle of fine rum Grynt had consumed to cure his nerves in the furious storm had not exactly helped their chances.
Indeed, Captain Grynt would've been the sole survivor if he had not delayed to fetch his most prized possessions first. But as is so often the case, Grynt’s selfish behavior came to appear as heroic. By the time he returned to the only functioning sloop it had been filled with those who hadn’t been sucked into the icy water. And so it appeared Grynt was the last living soul to abandon ship, and he mournfully assured all survivors that no others had survived the crash. It seemed unlikely, but Grynt insisted and hastily cut the sloop loose from the sinking Northstar.
Perhaps it was thanks to Grynt’s senile age that Timothy had had the fortune of coming into the man’s employment. Not that the Northstar needed a cabin boy. What it needed was actual sailors, new sails, repairs, and a thorough scrubbing.
Instead, the Northstar sailed with a quartermaster who was blind in one eye and deaf in the other ear. It sailed with a band of squabbling sailors whose sole purpose in live seemed to be to live as long as possible while doing as little as possible. It was a miracle the ship even sailed, Timothy thought. Not why, but how. The why was easily answered: shipping whatever and whoever at the lowest prices in the land without questions appealed to the poor and unsavory types. The how was a more elusive question. With nothing but fraying ropes, tattered sails, and a hull colored bright green from rot and moss on the outside The Northstar looked more like an oversized raft than a Schooner.
Now, ripped apart by the cliffs, it looked not even like a raft. If anything, it resembled the handful of survivors. Scattered, floating around aimlessly, yet remaining. The sun had just re-emerged, casting a shy light upon shivering bones.
Timothy hugged his knees even closer to his chest. The sailor’s clothes he’d bought to make a good impression on Grynt when he’d been granted employment were still soaking wet. The dark blue and white stripes clung to his skin same as the sand had glued itself onto his clothes.
“Boy!”
The booming voice was the only respectable captain-like trait Grynt had left in his old body.
Timothy glanced up. Grynt stood up to his knees in the water, sorting through whatever came drifting his way. “Come help sort this out!”
Although Timothy no longer considered himself to be in Grynt’s employment, as there was no more ship left to be employed upon, but he obeyed the commanding voice regardless. Tired, cold, and with little else to do, Timothy carried himself to the shore.
“See if there’s anything useful in there,” Grynt pushed a small crate through the water towards the coast. Sighing, Timothy marched knee-deep into the icy water and lifted the crate up to carry it ashore. With nothing else to pry the crate open, he resorted to bashing the wooden cube with a stray rock until the wood gave away. As soon as it did, he instantly covered his mouth and nose with both hands. A putrid stench wafted towards him. He did not even care to look what was inside as he tossed the useless crate aside.
They continued rummaging through the left-overs until the sun started to set. Much to the joy of the third surviving sailor, a lanky man-child called Sep, a crate of cheap ale had come through unscathed. Later, Timothy uncovered a crate of dried meat and fruit, though half of it had been spoiled by the water. Happy though he was to have something to chew on, Timothy was bright enough to realize that there would not be enough for four to last even a week. Their two most prized possessions now were the tinderbox Grynt had found and the sloop.
As twilight emerged, Judy, the fourth and quietest of the survivors had managed a small fire, though it was more smoke than flame.
“I say we check what we got and take the sloop,” Sep said.
“You want to row all the way to Riverfall?” Grynt snapped back.
“I’d rather not be caught by a glassbeak.”
“I’d rather not drown. Much less starve on a boat with you lot for company.”
Timothy frowned. “Why don’t we just go by land?” He asked in a husky voice. It was growing colder by the bell and he’d resorted to sitting as closely to the flames as possible without setting himself on fire.
“Are you daft?!” Judy spat out. She was rather short, frail and sickly looking with her always moist eyes and pale complexion. “That’d be the fastest way to get yourself killed.”
"If the monsters don't kill ya, the bandits will," Sep added. "It's crawling with 'em here. Nasty people that'll strip ya naked and skin ya alive."
Timothy shivered.
"I'd be more worried about the wild animals," Judy said as she poked the fire. "Bandits stalk the grass, aye, but they're looking for large caravans, not a few stranded queers."
"Agh!" Grynt waved his hand dismissively. "What do you know 'bout bandits woman! Ey?"
Judy gave the disheveled captain a hard stare but said nothing. Their conversation continued in the same vain for a while before sleep washed over them. Judy remained at the fire and kept guard. Sep fell asleep almost immediately, while Grynt nid-nodded until he too succumbed to sleep. But cabin boy Timothy of the Northstar remained firmly awake. His heartbeat drummed through the ground back into his ear. The cold was unbearable, the hard soil even more so, but worst of all were the ominous little sounds that ocassionaly broke the quiet of the night.
Long after the fire had died down, Timothy finally dozed off, only to awake a few bells later feeling the strong need to pee. Without a whisper he stood up and ventured away from the glowing remains of the fire. Judy, it seemed, had fallen asleep too. He walked across the beach over a dune, and relieved his bladder behind a line of reed. When he had finished up and was about to return, he saw it. A shadow occluded the faint glow of the fire. There was movement. Panicked movement. A muffled scream. Then silence.
Timothy ducked into a crouch and squinted his eyes. He couldn't make out a form, but he could see the movement. A figure stepped across the fire, lowered itself and leapt atop a shadowy clump. Again a muffled cry briefly ripped the night sky. Timothy ducked to the ground, his wet tunic gluing itself to the loose sand.
He was lucky to be alive.
For the longest while only the wind rustling through dried grass and tall reed sounded. But just when Timothy started to think he'd imagined the dual murder, he heard a splash.
The sloop! He needn't peer over the edge of the dune to guess what was going on down the beach. Nor did he dare to.
No matter the cold, no matter the stiffness in his limbs and the aching of his bones. Timothy remained hidden behind the cover of the dunes until first light hit the beach. Exhausted, but no less determined, he edged ever so slowly out of cover.
It was as he'd feared. The sloop was gone. Grynt and Sep rested near the fire, their bodies motionless. There was no sign of Judy, nor any of the supplies they had scavenged the day before.
He remained hidden a while longer until he could no longer ignore the growl in his stomach. Aside from a curious seagull or two, nothing at all had come near the still bodies of Captain Grynt and sailor Sep. And so Timothy mustered all his courage and stepped out of hiding, one hand clutching his stomach while the other covered his mouth.
Nothing could quite prepare him for what he saw next. As a Sunberthian, he'd seen his fair share of death. But never in this way. The throats of Grynt and Sep had been clinically sliced. Their eyes were still open, expressing a mixture of shock and horror. Aside from those two things however, the rested exactly where they'd gone to sleep.
A fat lump welled up in the pit of his stomach and rose to his throat were it remained firmly stuck. Timothy dropped to his knees near the fire. He wished the unthinkable. He wished he'd been killed. For aside from the two bodies, nothing else remained. The dead bodies had been stripped clean, and not even a piece of rope had been left behind on the beach. If he hadn't gone for a wee in the middle of the night, Judy would've certainly killed him too. Technically, she had. Only his death would be a long, slow, and painful one. Stuck as he was on a beach without any supplies, save for the useless money in his pouch. On both sides the seas loomed, waiting patiently for him to drop dead.
But he did not give up. He refused to stop breathing, and he hadn't the courage to drown himself. Only one choice remained. Cold, hungry, and deeply betrayed, Timothy picked himself up and wandered aimlessly into the sea of grass, mumbling prayers to Yahal under his breath. He did not want to die like this! He didn't want to die namelessly and alone, without the world ever knowing or caring he'd been around. Yahal, if you guide me through this, I pledge my life to your service. I will do whatever it takes to rid the world of traitors. I will do whatever it takes to cure the world of greed and selfishness. I swear upon my heart I will never forsake the helpless, I will never neglect the hungry, I will never turn my back on the sick. If you guide me through this I will make every tick I breath amount to something. Please, Yahal, hear me.
Sooner than he expected, his prayer was answered. Just a bell before midday he heard the distant clopping of hooves. A caravan? No. It sounded like a single horse. Or perhaps a pony.
Like on a trail of scent he dogged the sound, pausing only to relocate and reorient until finally, near twilight, it muted. His heart jumped to his throat. Whoever travelled there had halted. It was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he could catch up. A curse because he could no longer tell where the traveller was. He stalked the tall grass in the last known position, praying for the best. A light headache had set in. His lips were dry and starting to crack, his throat felt sore and his feet numb. But worst of all was the ravenous hunger. It was a too familiar feeling, although he'd never experienced it so intensly before. Yet, he endured. Then, quite suddenly, a plume of smoke billowed on the horizon. He was saved!
With his last remaining strength, Timothy pushed onward until he stumbled like a drunk unto a small clearing. His sailor's uniform and half his face was caked with sand. It lingered in his hair too, and in his ears, and in his boots, and under his fingernails. In fact it was everywhere, scrubbing his skin relentlessly.
There was a fire, a man, and a donkey. Out of all these unexpected, misplaced, mismatched things, the donkey looked the most comfortable and the least surprised. The fire flared up momentarily but quickly regained its usual composure. Most surprised was the man, or mountain, or bear, or man-bear-mountain who bore a rather prepossessing appearance. He looked like everything that Timothy wasn't. Tall, strong, tanned, tattooed, bearded, and healthy.
But Timothy cared for one thing only. And he uttered his desire in a feeble, husky voice as he dropped to his knees. "Food...please..."
OOCNote to self & grader: some items (sailor's outfit, food) were purchased by Timothy in Alvadas. I'll have to do a solo thread in early spring in Alvadas in which this actually happens and withdraw the proper amount from my ledger