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[Lance Windhelm]

17 Fall, 523

He woke up before the sunrise. It was an oddity that he himself didn’t understand. It was still a bell before his usual time, his eyes weren’t heavy and his mind was as clear as crystal light. Lance wasn’t one for nightmares, and he couldn’t even recall his dream. He had woken up in the middle of the night, simply awake. No doubt he only had gotten three or four hours of sleep before the day had called him.

Lance’s feet were up resting on the table across from him as he sat in his chair. He had his journal sitting in his lap and a quill was held in his hand. The page still say empty as the candle light flickered from the desk. He couldn’t yet hear the morning birds from hi window and the crowd downstairs in the Drunken Fish had all dispersed. His muse sat idely on his shoulder, not prompting him to write or draw or sing, but curing him with a stare out the window. His eyes were fixed there.

Thinking about home, how the sea breeze would touch his skin in the early morning, how always seemed busy with sailors and fishermen alike. How his father would sit next to him in the early hours, showing him how to fish or how his mother would call him to breakfast. He was a busy child, always playing with the other kids in the city. The safety there was something that people had to pay for in Sunberth. At that last thought Lance blinked twice and looked back down at the page.

He wrote in a type of code. It was something he had been doing for a few days now. A part of himself said he did it to keep his writings safe from prying eyes, another part said that it was to just pass time. It might have been both. Either way Lance wrote what was on his mind, his memories from home, his experiences there. The biggest fish he had caught and the look on his father’s face. He was so proud of him, even if the fish was only a few inches long. Lance was surprised at how natural the writing was coming to him, the code on the page. He had to look back occasionally to jog his memory of what letter meant what, but after a few days of doing it he felt he was getting the hang of it.

He wrote till he started hearing the birds chirp. The sun painted the room with his buttery glow and Lance let his arms stretch out wide. A yawn escaped his mouth and he could feel the sensation down into his chest.

“Yes.” Hs said to himself. “Today is going to be a good day.” He got up and started with his morning routine. He used the pot in. Pulled his hair back and tied it there with a leather cord. Dusted off his high boots, removing any dirt or grim he might have picked up from the day prior. Made his bed. Then he doused the candle and placed his journal and the rest of his belongs back into his chest that sat in the closet.

The only things he kept out were his leather armor, which sat in the corner by the doorway, his sword and dagger that hung from a weapon harness off his bed, and his metal flute that sat on his desk. He usually help it in a case that was in his chest, but today he decided he would keep it in his inner coat pocket. It was small enough and was easily accessible.

He put his boots and leather armor on, followed by his weapon harness and left his room to go down stairs. The smell of the Drunk Fish was something he was starting to get used it. Ale mixed with cooking meats and baking breads, he wondered if he was going to miss it after he left. Even the sound of his books on the hard wooden floor and padding of them as he danced down the steps to see Cira’s beautiful face.

“Good morning, Love.” Lance said with a smile.
“Hello Lance, what would you like?” She said with her Sunberthian accent.
“Just an easy breakfast. An egg maybe, with a piece of cheese and bread.”
“Switching it up are you?” She said with a smile and looked to go into the kitchen.
Before she could vanish through the doors Lance called out to her. “Anything new from this evening?” He asked. She knew what he meant. He was trying to keep his ear out for any thing going on in the city. Knowledge, in a place like this, was going to keep him alive.
“Hmm.” She put her hand to her chin thoughtfully. “I did hear something about a new pox being spread by the rats. Oh, and a new ship pulled in last night. I’m expecting those sailors tonight.” She said then pushed the door open to the kitchen and vanished.

A new crew means new people, which also means more loud and drunken nights. It was what you got when you stayed at an Inn. You never really could get a prefect nights rest, but you traded that for good company and maybe even new friends. Though, Lance had been surprisingly quiet these last few days, uncharacteristically so. He wasn’t sure what was going on with himself. He didn’t feel depressed. More so like a puzzle, missing a peace. Maybe that is what he needed, a drunken night with the sailors. He had many of those about a month ago and decided to give his head a break. If he had woken up dizzy one more time he might have ended up vomiting on his pillow.

The Drunken Fish was empty at the moment, save a worker here or there cleaning up for the night before. Some sailors sat at a table off in the corner with a sign-up sheet for their vessels, no doubt a duty they are being held to by their captain. Lance decided to walk over and see what they had to say, to stretch his conversational legs.

The ground made hollow noises as he approached and the sailors looked up at him with smiles only liars would wear.

“Good morning.” Lance said lifting his hand in greetings.
“Good morning, would you like to sign up for service on The Painted Lady? All expenses paid, only minor labor, and you get to see the world.” He said with a steady smile and hands that crossed the would-be horizon in a fashion well practiced.
“Oh, no. Not as of right now.” Lance said. “I was actually wondering how long you have been a sailor.”
“Ahh. Twelve years believe it or not.” He said, then showing him his hands. “You don’t get calluses like this by doing dishes.” He laughed.

Lance looked down at his own hands. They were soft and nimble, those of a musician or a mage, though the latter he only hoped. His face changed to a look of longing.

“I can see it in your eyes, you crave adventure.” The sailor said, pointing a finger. “I can tell you stories that would make you shake in your boots, and that can make your little man stand at attention.” He said, changing the direction of his finger. “I’ve seen creatures eat whole ships. And beautiful ladies that you’d think are a goddess.” He attempted to drive his point home.
“And I can have all that by joining your crew?” Lance asked, smirking.
“Eh.” The sailor said shrugging his shoulders and taking a seat, seeing that Lance wasn’t really interested. “New experiences my friend. It’s how we all grow.
“That is true.” Lance said.
“Your breakfast!” Cira said as she slid a plate onto the bar and dashed back to the kitchen.
“It was nice to meet you.”
“Well he haven’t really have we? My name is Loran U’ltic.” He gave his hand to shake. Lance took it in his, he could feel the man’s rough skin.
“Lance… Lance Windhelm.” He said.

Lance walked back over to the bar and started to eat his food. He thought about the man’s words. New adventures. He started to think of new things he could learn. There was so much he didn’t know about the world, so much that he hadn’t experienced. He thought of how it would even broaden his Muse for songs and tales. As he ate he started to think of things that would interest him.

He had seen the men at the smith forging and working weapons, he thought he could spend some time there and learn a bit. They seemed like hard working folks. His hand would be beaten up after a while for sure, and who knows if his music would suffer if he didn’t practice enough, he could always do that in the evenings though. He took a bite of the meat on his plate.

Sailing would also be an adventure. He had been thinking of this for some time now. Taking a contract and spending a season on a ship. The men were a kind of kindred, growing up around sailors it was almost in his blood. It might actually be somewhere down his family tree. Growing up in Zeltiva, it was bound that one of his relatives had fallen in love with one of the Svefra.

On the subject of Metal working, Lance could see himself enjoying carpentry. It would be easier on his hands, he would think. Not to mention maybe he would be able to take trips out of the city, seeing the location they get their wood from. Lance day dreamed about it all as he filled his mouth with another peace of cheese followed by a bite of bread. He wondered to himself if he would actually go through with it, go through with venturing out into different Jobs. There was nothing wrong with his playing the flute at The Scarlet Sanctum, he enjoyed it in fact. But the scene could get old after a while.

Lance sat there eating his food and in deep thought about his life and where he would want it to go. He knew that Sunberth wasn’t going to be where he settled down, if he was going to settle down anywhere. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get better at some things while he was there.

WC: 1749

[Lance Windhelm]

Lance stood there. Looking out into the distance. The seascape a head of him. The ships bobbing in the water like leaves unwilling to drown in a pond. The cool fall air hitting his face gently. He thought about being a sailor. How the sea would be his home. Was his home. How the water was so beautiful, and so deadly, something that demanded respect and that begged for you to try and tame her. A dirty, beautiful woman, just waiting for a moment to rip your heart out and give it to another one of her lovers.

A smile crossed him mouth. But he would experience the sea with people he called brothers. He would lead them or be lead by them. He would teach them, and they would teach him. Everyone had something they could learn. Lance knew almost nothing about sailing. From his few times aboard a ship, he couldn’t even remember their basic layout. He might had been able to recall how to tie some of the knots if it were only a month after the voyage. Those things where all forgotten now.

He could teach some of them how to play an instrument maybe, of the basics of telling stories. Those things he was good at. Hopefully in turn they would show him how to survive at sea, how to tie knots, how to sail a ship. He would have to take up watch now an again and work in all sorts of weather. Lance looked down at his hands, those of a musician no doubt. Soft and nimble, that would change after the first season.

He wondered about the first storm they would encounter. Would he be too afraid to move, or would he jump into action like he was supposed to. He would have to obey the commands of the Captain, his new God. The man that held his life in his hands, and dictated all of the rules and laws on board. They could make his voyage a living hell, or something that he might want to explore again. The crew could do the same, but no one on board had as much power as the captain had.

Lance felt the wind in his hair. He thought about being atop the ship in the crows nest. Keeping watch for shallows, or land, or other ships. Gods forbid he runs into pirates on their first voyage out. He wondered how often that happened. How long was the life a ship? What was the life expectancy of the crew? He started to wonder if he was asking the right questions or trying to talk himself out of the whole thing.

Lance watched as the crew of one of ships started to lose the mooring lines, unfurl the sails and head off to the deeps. They wouldn’t go far. Many of the vessels stuck close to the shoreline. Mostly due to pirates, but also from the weather. He wondered if the sailors were afraid or exited. If they would get paid for their troubles or have to endure hardship for meager pay. He thought about these things as he headed back inside to The Drunken Fish. His home.

He went back upstairs and into his room. Sat at his table and started to write a bit, in his code. Sure that no one would be able to read it, at least not at first, not till they figured out the letter scheme. It was simple, just the alphabet backwards and forwards. He was starting to memorize how the stuff went. He wrote for the remainder of the day like this. Going on about the docks, breakfast, and his conversation with the sailors earlier in the day. How they were so eager, but also how they would say almost anything in order to get him on that ship.

“The Painted Lady.” He thought. How did she get her name? Maybe because of the blood on her hall from all of the enemies they had slain? He smiled at the thought, it seemed a little much. Who knew where she got her name. It could have been as easy as one of the captains daughters decided to draw something on the deck and it sparked some inspiration in the captain. But as a story teller Lance couldn’t help but embellish things at times.

WC: 726