Surviving On the Beach (Daske & Alister)

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Timestamp: 01 Spring 512 Location: Oyster Island The Black Lady was flying across the waves wing-on-wing, letting the strong west wind have its way with her. Daske sat on the starboard side with his hand resting on the tiller, lost in the slow up-down rhythm of the Casinor. After forty-five days working on a merchant ship, he was glad to be back on the Black Lady, free to sail wherever he wished, master of his own fate. He had no particular destination in mind. The course had been steady for nearly thirty hours. He figured he had covered more than two hundred miles. He had not seen any other ships in that time, leaving him with a solitary feeling. He liked it that way. Wind, water, and sail: the three basic elements of sailing. He loved the sheer simplicity of it. He had been aware of the storm clouds gathering in the West. They had been building all morning. They were big and dark and roiling. The gods must be angry, he thought. But now he was paying more attention to them. The wind was picking up and the coming storm was closing fast. He could see now that it was vast – stretching across the entire Western horizon, a great wall of blackness racing Eastward, with the Black Lady directly in its path. Lightening was dancing across the surface of the advancing wall of clouds. Strange reddish vortexes were forming and de-forming and re-forming. He had never seen anything quite like it and found it unsettling. Daske was becoming concerned. He reefed the main to reduce sail. When that did not seem to be enough, he went forward and replaced the jib with a storm sail. Then he returned to the cockpit and reefed the main some more. By now the sea had changed from gentle swells to disturbed waves to steep breaking waves. Daske was becoming alarmed. The storm broke upon the Black Lady with a fury Daske could not have imagined, and a deep darkness descended upon her up. Wind-driven rain deluged the boat. Gale force winds attacked the mains'l and would have ripped it apart had Daske not dropped it and lashed it to the boom. Now all he had was the small storm jib for control. Jagged streaks of lightening were exploding all around him, accompanied by a cacophony of deep rolling thunder that he felt as much as heard. He could smell the burning ozone, as though the air itself was on fire. The breaking waves were towering as high as the Lady's mast now. Daske was scared. The storm tossed the Lady around like flotsam. It was all Daske could do to keep her from trying to head up into the wind, which would necessarily turn him broadside to the waves, which would certainly get him rolled, about the only thing that could actually sink the Lady. The wind grabbed the storm sail and tore it away, taking the forestay with it. The Lady was bucking wildly up and down like a wild horse trying to throw off its rider. Daske was beyond scared. He lashed himself to the tiller with the aft docking line. Hour after hour the storm drove the Black Lady mercilessly before it. Sometimes she would climb the backside of a wave so steep that Daske was sure she was going to flip over backwards. Other times she would dive down the front face of a wave and plow into the back of the next wave, burying the entire boat. Everyone once in a while, a wave would come smashing down on her stern from behind, pounding the entire aft half of the boat. Then he saw what every sailor dreads most in a storm. He saw land. A seaworthy boat can take a great deal of battering by wind and wave, and remain intact. She will usually ride out even the worst of storms as long as her skipper doesn't do anything stupid. But land is a different matter. Land can rip her apart and spread the pieces of her up and down a beach. Land is her enemy, and the Lady was about to meet her enemy head-on. Daske had no time to react. The Lady hit the sandy beach hard and plowed through sand and rocks, momentum driving her forward until she came to an abrupt stop wedged between two trees. Something struck Daske in the back of the head and everything went black.

[Alister Whitecrest]

When Alister woke up, it had to have been days after the massive storm. Was it the fourth? The fifth? He wasn't quite sure. There was no way to tell how long ago it had been, seeing as he had been fading in and out of consciousness for a while now. His headache was dulled, and he found that he could sit up easily enough. That is--easily enough compared to before; his joints still screamed and his skin pulled tight and some scabs broke, but he could do it without vomiting from the pain or without having to promptly fall back asleep. He reached slowly for his waterskien and took a sip. It was worryingly lighter than it had been before. Alister took a deep breath, trying to stave off panic. He needed to stand up and find food, shelter, and water. Then he'd need to find wood and somehow patch up his ship. He glanced in it's direction and despaired at it's current state. A land-lubber would be hard pressed to recognize the Peaceful Infinity as a ship anymore. He took another deep breath. If he had any hope of surviving, he'd need to try a little harder. It was time to try and stand up.

It took him nearly an hour, but he managed to get himself on his feet. He stumbled around a little in the sand, trying to get used to walking again. Even this got his chest heaving--which in his state was very painful. Very near to him he found his Cutlass. He decided to take it. In his current state, it wouldn't be much use, but if he wanted to survive, he'd need to have some way to ward off predators and possibly even kill prey. Besides, the extra weight would give him more exercise. He was already panting and sweating hard. He felt like he had run ten miles, and his headache was getting worse again. He tried to convert a little of his djed to Res, and then winced at the pain the attempt brought. It didn't look like he'd be able to use Reimancy for a while. He hoped it would come back soon--as far as things went, it would be more help protecting him than the cutlass would.

Scattered throughout the beach were planks painted pale blue--remains of his ship. He was quite suprised how long it took him to actually reach it. It was either a testament to how far away it was, or to what kind of conidion he was in. When he finally got there, he slumped against the side, completely exhausted. Then, having a sudden idea, he found a large hole in the hull and crawled in, hoping to use the wreck as protection and shelter from any weather and/or animals looking for an easy meal. His mood wasn't helped by the state of his ship--he couldn't imagine fixing it. Especially if this was what it took to walk a few meters. He lay down against the ground and fell back asleep, trying to regain as much strength as possible.

(for explanation as to the circumstances of Alister's shipwreck, see Riding the Storm--http://www.mizahar.com/forums/topic19125.html)

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Daske woke to the sound of breaking waves rushing up the beach in their never-ending futile attempt to reach the trees and then retreating back into the sea. The incoming tide was beating out a rhythm as old as the sea itself. It was a pleasant sound. There was something primal about it. Without opening he eyes he went back to sleep. When he woke up again the sound of breakers had given way to a gentler swishing sound as the waves climbed up the sandy beach and then rushed back out to sea. The rhythm was the same but the tide was going out now, repeating its twice-daily rhythm. A rhythm within a rhythm. Damn, he thought to himself. I'm becoming down right philosophical in my old age. He opened his eyes and stared at the hull of his boat, which was about six inches from his face. It curved up and away from him, revealing clear blue sky beyond. He sat up and banged his head on the unforgiving boards. He could tell that the sun must be shining, but he couldn't see it because he was in the shadow of the beached boat. Apparently he had been thrown out of the boat and had ended up part way under her when she came to a rest between two trees. He pulled himself out from under the boat and stood up. “Oh crap,” He said out loud in Pavi as his stomach decided that this was as good a time as any to empty its contents on to the beach. He fell on his hands and knees so he could help his stomach make a good show of it. Once his stomach had completed its mission, he realized that he had a pounding headache and that his vision was blurry. He laid down right where he was on a bed of hard sand mixed with dried kelp, and listened to the waves some more. After a while a thought came to him: Water, shelter, food. The three essentials for survival. If I don't move, I'm going to die here. He made himself sit up. When nothing catastrophic happened, he carefully stood up with his hand on the hull of the Black Lady for support. His headache had retreated to the back of his head where it had reduced itself to a dull ache. Daske was pretty sure this was only a ruse and that the headache was simply biding it's time until it saw an opportunity to leap to the front of his head and make his eyes pop out. His eyes didn't seem as blurry as before either. The Black Lady was resting partly on her side, making it a relatively easy task to climb aboard, the operative word here being 'relatively'. The cockpit and deck were a mess but seemed at first glance to be surprisingly intact. The guy wires holding the mast in place had broken free and the mast had fallen over the other side of the boat, where its top had buried itself in the sand. He gingerly made his way below deck. Equipment and belongings were strewn everywhere. It looked like someone had picked up the boat and shaken it vigorously. Come to think of it, he thought. That's pretty much the way it happened. For some reason, this struck him as funny and he burst out laughing. He stopped almost immediately because his headache took the opportunity to remind him that it was watching and waiting. He found his waterskin in the head and drank a little water from it (from the waterskin, that is). He was thirsty but he knew enough to not guzzle large amounts of water down all at once. He found his stash of venison jerky hiding under the V-berth bed. As he chewed slowly on the jerky, he looked around the interior of his boat. Furniture, fittings and equipment had relocated themselves to new and novel places around the cabin, but by and large everything looked to be in pretty good shape. It wouldn't take too much work to put it all back together again. The real question was the hull. Back on the beach, he did a careful walk around the boat. There were broken boards and gaping holes here and there, but those could be replaced and repaired. As near as he could tell, the keel wasn't broken. That had been his biggest worry. The greatest damage appeared to be around the bow where the boat had been seized by two sizable trees, which now stood guard over their prisoner as if to say, “You ain't goin' no where any time soon, son.” He walked up the beach and sat down with his back against a stunted pine tree. He took out his pipe, filled it with tobacco and lit it up. As he smoked, he took stock of his situation. He had no idea where he was, but he was alive and had suffered minimal injuries. He had water, shelter and food. And the Black Lady had survived more or less intact. “Daske, ol' buddy,” he said in Pavi. “You sure lucked out this time.”

[Alister Whitecrest]

When Alister awoke again, it took a moment to realize where he was. The light filtering through the holes and burns in the hull gave a strange, unearthly feel to the wreckage. He crawled outside and was surprised that he hadn't slept very long. The sun was only a little higher in the sky. He'd only been asleep for a few hours, by the looks of it. Or possibly he slept for an entire day and then some. That was quite possible, but he didn't feel like that was true. Not that he had any basis, but really, if there was anything to go on here, it was what he felt like. It didn't really matter either way. When he stood up, he was surprised that his body was a lot better rested. He wasn't winded just from standing up. That was quite promising. He decided to celebrate by pulling out a little of his hard-tack rations and eating an entire biscuit. He could feel it fall into his empty stomach.

He decided to look around a bit with his newfound strength. First he walked back to where he had first woken up. He could see the imprint of his body on the sand. When he looked around, the beach looked uniformly scattered with the remains of his ship. After a moment of consideration, he decided to head into the forest. Perhaps this was a bad idea, but there was no way any wolf or bear could be as dangerous as the storm he had just faced. If he had survived one, he felt confident he could survive the other. In the end, though, he needn't have worried. He managed to walk only a few meters into the woods, and then he felt way too tired to keep going. Yet again, his scabs had broken, and his body was hurting in every way possible. At least it didn't hurt as much as before, though after another attempt at using Reimancy, he found he was still incapable of it. That could be a problem, and he grew a little more worried. Was it possible he would never be able to use Reimancy again? What would all his work with his father have been for then? Or, and just remembering the event made him wince unconsciously, what would his initiation have been for? The thought didn't help his mood or his condition, so he decided to turn back and be satisfied with the current progress.

He walked back down the beach, stumbling, the walk having exhausted him. Halfway down, he sat for a moment to rest. He looked out at the ocean. Would he ever be able to sail again? He certainly wouldn't if he couldn't get off this beach, but even then, he might have to buy or make a whole new boat. And there was no way for him to get enough money. He bolted up, having a sudden idea, then fell back down, moaning at the pain spike his sudden movement had caused. When he had recovered, a while later, he went back to his earlier thought. He felt sure his podkin had had the same idea as he had--to ride out the storm Laviku had warned them of. He had survived, but what bothered him was, had they? He had to find out, but he didn't have a Avikki with him. The only way to find out would be to escape this beach and find his pod. Alister stood more carefully. He was determined now. He needed to get out of here and back to the sea.

With that thought, he stumbled back to what was left of his ship, pondering what it would take to find his pod again. First of all, he would need to get better, and fast. Secondly, he would need to find a source of food. Seeing as he had no knowledge of what plants and berries would kill him, he would probably have to resort to hunting. And finally he would need to fix his ship and get it into the water. This would be the trick. When he got to the remains, he stopped a moment to contemplate them. There were huge gashes in the hull, and the mast was broken and the sail missing. Those would be the biggest obstacles. If he could regather the planks, and then find someway to glue them together...maybe with tree sap? Then he'd need some sort of lever to move the boat into position during the low tide to be picked up when the tide came in. This would take a lot of work. But then something stopped his train of thought. It was a surprisingly intact bit of the ship that lay in the sand farthest up the beach. It was his harpoon, now disconnected from the ship but otherwise intact. Could he use it as a crossbow? He'd need to find something to use as ammo, but he was sure he could somehow fashion a sharp wooden stake. The other problem came to him as he dragged it across the sand and back into the hole in the hull he was taking refuge in. Would he be able to carry it? When he was done, he collapsed against one of the hull walls. One thing was certain---he wouldn't be able to carry it now. He'd need to get better for that. And there was only one thing he could do to help that: fall asleep again. Which he promptly did.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

When Syna peeked through the tree tops the next morning, she found Daske sitting in the tilted cockpit of the Black Lady attempting to draw a map of the beach in the immediate vicinity. He had decided he would follow the beach in search of some sign of civilization or some indication of where he had landed. West or East? He could think of no advantage to one direction over the other. He set off to the West. The beach quickly changed from sand to rocks and then to cliffs that he could not easily traverse. It appeared to be a headland. He turned inland and scrambled up a steep rocky bluff into the trees. Tall, stately firs welcomed him into their embrace on a mossy green carpet. The woods smelled old and musty. It was silent except for an occasional bird calling out. He could almost imagine he was the first person to ever walk through this forest. The trees abruptly ended overlooking a tiny cove on the other side of the headland with a tiny strip of sandy beach. He decided against scrambling down to the beach because he could see that he would have to climb back up on the other side to cross another headland. Instead, he followed the bluff above the cove to the other side and then continued on through the trees a little further until he found himself looking down on a second, larger cove protected from the prevailing Westerlies by a small island. This cove had a more extensive beach, which featured the remains of the hull of a shipwrecked boat. Broken pieces of boards, some painted blue, lay scattered across the white sand. So much for being the first person to visit this place, he thought. DASKE'S MAP OF THE BEACH WHERE THE BLACK LADY CAME TO REST A movement on the opposite side of the cove caught his eye. Three two-legged creatures were making their way over the rocks and on to the beach. They were clearly humanoid, and just as clearly NOT human. Man-sized with long limbs that hung down at their sides and ended in long claws, they had nasty looking fangs that protruded from jutting angular jaws. As near as he could tell, they were not wearing clothes. Rather their bodies appeared to be covered with dirt, stones and plant matter, as if they had arisen from the earth itself. Daske had never seen anything like them before. He was just about to retreat back to his boat when he noticed movement inside the broken hull on the beach below him. It was a man sitting and looking in Daske's general direction. Daske was pretty sure he hadn't seen the creatures coming up behind him. OOC : The creatures are Yukmen.

[Alister Whitecrest]

The next time Alister awoke, he found that the sun was lower in the sky than before, indicating that it was the next morning. He looked around for a moment, then yawned, noting that the expansion in his chest it caused didn't caused him much pain anymore. This was very good, as it meant he was healing faster than he had anticipated. He was about to check to see if he could use Reimancy again, when he noticed movement in the woods just beyond the sand. He stopped what he was doing and looked back over where he saw the slightest motion. After a moment, he saw that it was a figure, humanoid. It looked like whoever it was was looking behind him at something. Then the head turned slightly to look right at him. Alister had a moment of fear. Who or what was it? Alister stood slowly. He felt much better, although not nearly back to normal yet. On a normal day, he would have not sailed if he felt this bad, and instead would have lain around in a port or on a beach. Regardless, he stepped forward, noting with pleasure how much easier it was now, while at the same time wincing from the still-present pain.

After a moment, he decided to drag the harpoon with him. He knew it wouldn't be actually helpful, but he hoped that whoever it was would be intimidated by it. However, he also turned it away from the other person, trying to keep from looking like a threat of some sort. He also carried the cutlass with him, but even with the rate of recovery he had observed thus far, he doubted it would be much use against anything soon. He would have to hope his Reimancy was there. Alister looked around, suddenly remembering that the other person had been looking past the ship. He was startled--and a bit scared--by what he saw. Three more humanish figures shambled across the beach towards him, still a little ways off. They were obviously not humans of any type: their arms were grotesquely too long with claws at the end, and their entire body looked covered in sand, dirt, and other parts of the earth. It looked like they had just risen out of the ground. Alister drew his cutlass, the weight of the blade weighing his arm down a bit more than he had hoped. He had no idea what those things were, but they certainly didn't look friendly. All thoughts of the other person in the forest vanished as he prepared himself to meet these new beings.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Daske hesitated. The creatures saw the man standing beside the broken hull, let out a howl, and charged toward him at a surprisingly fast clip. It did not strike Daske as a friendly gesture and the man was looking unsteady on his feet. Daske wasn't sure what he should do. They hadn't seen him yet. The smart thing would be to retreat to his boat, get his bow, and prepare for an attack. If he was lucky, the man on the beach would manage to kill one of them, reducing the number Daske would have to deal with. “Dammit!” he said as he threw himself down the embankment and sprinted across the sand toward the advancing creatures. “Hey, dirt heads!” he shouted as he ran. With hardly a break in their stride, two of the creatures broke away and headed toward him. The third was almost on top of the man by the hull.

[Alister Whitecrest]

By the time Alister had readied himself, the monsters were charging at him, faster than their forms implied. He raised his cutlass to try and cut them, but was startled to hear a cry from behind him, belatedly remembering the man he had seen up there earlier. Well, this answered the question as to wether or not he was dangerous--or a least, wether or not he simply wanted Alister dead. It was still possible that he wanted to kill Alister himself, but that was a rather slim possibility. Whatever the reason, the man had drawn off two of the three monsters that were coming at him, but it still left one heading right for Alister. He refocused and smiled a little. He survived the storm, he could survive this.

As the monster drew within a few meters, Alister made a quick step forward and tried to stab the monster. To his dismay, however, his arm gave out as it made contact with the skin and Alister was forced to stumble backward as he was hit in the chest by the monster. Up close it looked horrible, it's skin cracked and coated in sand and dirt and even some plant-life. It's face looked like an unskilled sculptor's attempt to cross a wolf and a human, and it's eyes shone hungrily at Alister. Realizing that he didn't have the strength to stab or even do any fancy sword work. He began flailing his arm around, letting the weight of it and his sword turn his flailing into powerful slashes. He hit about twice, the first time hitting the arm, only to find that the layer of earth and sand absorbed most of the attack, and what did end up going through merely served to anger the monster. The second time, his sword actually stuck in the right thigh of the monster, and Alister's grip failed when the tried to pull it back for another attack, leaving the cutlass sticking almost comically out of the thing's body.

Without a real weapon, Alister stumbled back away from the monster, was hit in the chest, fell back, and was forced to scamper back wards to avoid the monster's encroaching claws. He was in serious trouble now. If there were at least some way to escape he might come up with something, but as it was, the claws got nearer and nearer to him every strike. Suddenly remembering his last weapon, he prayed to Laviku it would work this time. He summoned up as much Res as he could--about one square meter, in his current state--and pushed it forward, turning it all in to wind as he did so, hoping the throw the monster across the beach. His control slipped, though, and the wind exploded outward in all directions, spinning around into bizarre and unnatural formations, throwing Alister himself a few meters. He was just glad he could use Reimancy again. Admittedly, he had no real control, but still, it was better than nothing. He got up, his ribs and back in pain, and made to run for the shelter of the woods. But with a start, he realized that the monster wasn't there anymore. The force of the backfire had been such that the sand had been thrown up into a great cloud and, even better, the monster had literally been torn to pieces by the tiny unnatural gale. Alister stood there for a moment, in shock, then, remembering the person from earlier, turned back to see if he needed any help.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Okay, he thought as he and the two creatures closed quickly on each other. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. He barely had time to pull out his longsword before they were on top of him. He ducked to the left and felt a clawed hand swing past the top of his head. He swung his sword backhanded at the creature as it swept past him. In retrospect it was not a particularly bright move since it meant that the creature and his sword were moving in the same direction. But he felt the sword connect with something. This otherwise beautifully executed maneuver had the unfortunate affect of causing him to lose his balance. He landed flat on his back which knocked the wind out of him. One of the creatures was down. Apparently Daske's sword had, in an incredible display of dumb luck, cut a tendon in its leg. It was, however, getting back up, seemingly oblivious to the injury. The other creature had wheeled around with unexpected dexterity and was charging right at him. It's mouth was open, exposing a mouthful of sharp teeth and fangs. Daske was pretty sure it intended to rip off one or more of his appendages, possibly his head as well. This didn't strike Daske as a good thing. He got on his knees, still trying to catch is breath, and watched in dismay as the creature leaped on top of him. Three unlikely things now happened more or less at the same time. The first unlikely thing was that Daske managed to get his sword pointed at the beast which obligingly impaled itself on the weapon, driving the blade through its gut and out its back. Thick, sticky blood spurted down the handle of the longsword and on to Daske's right hand and arm. The second unlikely thing was that the creature sailed over Daske, ripping the sword out of his hand as it went, although not before raking its claws along the length of Daske's left arm and throwing him in the opposite direction with astonishing force, again knocking the wind out of him. The third unlikely thing was that Daske was still alive. He tried to get up but his body didn't seem to be following orders any more. His vision was blurred, his left arm was hanging useless at his side doing its best to share as much of his blood as it could with the sand, and he couldn't get a good breath of air. That was the good news. The bad news was that the creature he had hamstrung was making its way toward him at a pretty good clip for a beast that had to drag one of its legs along behind. "Crap," Daske said in Pavi.

[Alister Whitecrest]

Alister ran as best he could back to the patch of sand where he had been fighting the monster. Bloody bits of monster littered the beach, and his headache was already increasing exponentially after the Reimancy backfire. After a moment of searching, he grabbed found the cutlass, picked it up, and tried his best to run back to the other man. His legs were getting weak again, and he was having trouble focusing. Yet again, he felt tremendously weary and his eyelids felt made of lead. The tip of his sword dragged along in the sand behind him, his arms to weak to actually hold it up. It suddenly occurred to him that he wouldn't be much help even if he got there, but he pushed the thought away. It didn't matter if he didn't help, he had to at least try.

When he finally arrived, Alister was dismayed by what he saw. The other man lie bleeding on the sand. One of the monsters was limping along at him, while another, on the far side of the man, had the his sword impaled through the middle. Alister couldn't tell if that one was alive or not, but the one closer to him sure was. Making the best of the element of suprise, he leapt onto the thing's back, using his momentum to drive his cutlass into the thing's neck clumsily. It got more shoulder than neck, but it would have to do. Then Alister let himself go limp, the weight of his body falling turning his cutlass into a lever to pry the two sides of the wound apart. He had meant for it to tear the thing's head off, but his aim was poor and he wasn't really sure how much damage it did. His cutlass bent a little as it slid out, then made an almost comical sproing! as it returned to roughly its original shape. Alister picked himself up off the ground, now on one knee, readying himself to fight some more.