22nd of Winter, 517
Many men and women ventured into the ocean in search of the unknown. Some have a destination in mind, an invisible road that took them to their goals. Leaving friends and family behind, they traveled, left and right, in search of meaning or purpose. Civilization had grown tired of these adventurous souls and their whims, unable to relate or empathize with such strong sentiment. It is only those who live it the ones that get to experience that chill, that courage and passion required to step out of the safety of the walls and be here, floating in the nothingness, taming the winds and waters for whatever reason. The crew of the Raindrop, pirate vessel, found out the other side of the coin.
As Wikus finished his breakfast, he ventured out in the deck only to be greeted by the nothingness of the ocean. The winds seemed to cut his face, and intense chills ran up and down his spine. The ship was traveling at very high speeds, so much that the Drykas felt even more nauseous than usual. The Raindrop cried out in pain now that she was left on a lonely journey, as if the wood itself was haunted by the ghosts of the dead crew. The Drykas, making sure to not peer directly into the water, made his way to the wheel. On his way there, he glanced towards the frozen expressions of the dead crew and the horrid expressions that had been unchanged for the last days. Their horror did not infect Wikus, for he had held no sympathy for any of them. Up on the wheel, which Wikus had secured with some ropes, remained unchanged, letting the ship only go forth to avoid any unwanted steering whilst he slept. Only when he was there he dared to peek out into the ocean, and found, as usual, nothing but mist and water.
The first few days after the mutiny, he had remained on the wheel, ever vigilant for land, afraid of crashing and drowning. Now, days after that, he no longer worried about it. He didn’t lose sleep about it, either, for he spent most of his time down in the cargo hold, sleeping, still afraid that either a pirate or a slave still haunted the ship. It was possible; everything was possible. It often sounded as if the crew still chatted through the decks; the lower one was, the most likely it seemed. If this was truly the case, the hoarder had gathered all he needed in the cargo hold, where he had hidden once disease began spreading. Looking up and looking through the mist, Wikus couldn’t help but miss his loyal donkey.
The sight of water was unbearable, and so Wikus began his march towards the lower cargo. The candles had been snuffed out days ago, but Wikus recalled more or less the path – even being capable of dodging the corpses he used to trip over. The lower he descended, the more uneasy he felt with the sounds around him. The wood creaked, and the waves banged against the hull every so often. The rocking of the boat did not help at all. Eventually, however, Wikus found himself back into the cargo deck, squeezing through the goodies as best as he could, squeezing through here and there in the darkness.
It was at that moment when the ship collided with something; something big. Whatever it was, it had caused a fatal wound to the ship, which now began leaking ice-cold water onto the cargo hold. Wikus was knocked back himself, partially trampled by the fabrics and barrels that composed the lowest of the cargo hold. Panic. The touch of water gave him such a powerful adrenaline rush that even he couldn’t believe how quickly he managed to free himself from the trade materials. He quickly began moving towards the ladder, eager to escape the ship just as the ship collided with something else, even harsher than the first time. He felt it then, how the vessel stopped and how gravity changed. It was sinking. Wikus got on the move immediately.
Climbing the ladder out of the storage was easy. However, once he was in the quarter’s deck, the hull gave off behind him. Water flooded through the ship, chasing after him through the darkness. Few things were as scary as the water you cannot see. The ex-Drykas’ breath increased in speed so rapidly he believed an anxiety attack would follow, and that very thought was enough to complete the self-fulfilling prophecy. The ground below him grew in steepness as he ran towards the end of the ship, towards the stairwell that connected to both the cannon deck and upper deck. Thankfully, his bare feet offered good traction. The steepness was so great now that everything in the deck began rolling down, be it the corpses, the barrels of supplies, the personal objects of the crew and even the mounted guns. It was a slowly-building avalanche, which made Wikus stumble a few times, but not strong enough to hurt him in any major way. Once on the stairwell, he could barely catch breath, for his lungs refused to let the cold air in.
Only when he was outside he could witness the whole mess; the mast and sails had fallen and covered the water, the ship was split in half, and screams and yells made up the symphony of the night. There was not enough time to contemplate, for the ship was going into the water. Wikus fell to his fours, using his flesh as traction whilst he climbed to the front of the ship. The corpses of the crew rolled down into the water, and so did their belongings. The bowsprit was the last destination, currently the highest point of the sinking ship. Too panicked to think straight, Wikus did the only thing he felt reasonable; try to jump onto the remains of the dock. And so he did, falling almost ten feet in a very nasty way, ending up on his knees with a pain he’d most likely never forget. Nonetheless, he felt safe. Or safer.
It was only then when he took a moment to see what had happened. Besides the ship he arrived, another big ship’s hull was damaged. Surely the first bang heard was because of that. The second bang was when the dead vessel slammed through the docks, breaking not only itself but also the docking itself. People had gathered all around, watching, yelling and shouting. And it was clear they had seen Wikus jump off the dead vessel. Those same crowds also witnessed how Wikus just began running off, limping, before he was captured.
Many men and women ventured into the ocean in search of the unknown. Some have a destination in mind, an invisible road that took them to their goals. Leaving friends and family behind, they traveled, left and right, in search of meaning or purpose. Civilization had grown tired of these adventurous souls and their whims, unable to relate or empathize with such strong sentiment. It is only those who live it the ones that get to experience that chill, that courage and passion required to step out of the safety of the walls and be here, floating in the nothingness, taming the winds and waters for whatever reason. The crew of the Raindrop, pirate vessel, found out the other side of the coin.
As Wikus finished his breakfast, he ventured out in the deck only to be greeted by the nothingness of the ocean. The winds seemed to cut his face, and intense chills ran up and down his spine. The ship was traveling at very high speeds, so much that the Drykas felt even more nauseous than usual. The Raindrop cried out in pain now that she was left on a lonely journey, as if the wood itself was haunted by the ghosts of the dead crew. The Drykas, making sure to not peer directly into the water, made his way to the wheel. On his way there, he glanced towards the frozen expressions of the dead crew and the horrid expressions that had been unchanged for the last days. Their horror did not infect Wikus, for he had held no sympathy for any of them. Up on the wheel, which Wikus had secured with some ropes, remained unchanged, letting the ship only go forth to avoid any unwanted steering whilst he slept. Only when he was there he dared to peek out into the ocean, and found, as usual, nothing but mist and water.
The first few days after the mutiny, he had remained on the wheel, ever vigilant for land, afraid of crashing and drowning. Now, days after that, he no longer worried about it. He didn’t lose sleep about it, either, for he spent most of his time down in the cargo hold, sleeping, still afraid that either a pirate or a slave still haunted the ship. It was possible; everything was possible. It often sounded as if the crew still chatted through the decks; the lower one was, the most likely it seemed. If this was truly the case, the hoarder had gathered all he needed in the cargo hold, where he had hidden once disease began spreading. Looking up and looking through the mist, Wikus couldn’t help but miss his loyal donkey.
The sight of water was unbearable, and so Wikus began his march towards the lower cargo. The candles had been snuffed out days ago, but Wikus recalled more or less the path – even being capable of dodging the corpses he used to trip over. The lower he descended, the more uneasy he felt with the sounds around him. The wood creaked, and the waves banged against the hull every so often. The rocking of the boat did not help at all. Eventually, however, Wikus found himself back into the cargo deck, squeezing through the goodies as best as he could, squeezing through here and there in the darkness.
It was at that moment when the ship collided with something; something big. Whatever it was, it had caused a fatal wound to the ship, which now began leaking ice-cold water onto the cargo hold. Wikus was knocked back himself, partially trampled by the fabrics and barrels that composed the lowest of the cargo hold. Panic. The touch of water gave him such a powerful adrenaline rush that even he couldn’t believe how quickly he managed to free himself from the trade materials. He quickly began moving towards the ladder, eager to escape the ship just as the ship collided with something else, even harsher than the first time. He felt it then, how the vessel stopped and how gravity changed. It was sinking. Wikus got on the move immediately.
Climbing the ladder out of the storage was easy. However, once he was in the quarter’s deck, the hull gave off behind him. Water flooded through the ship, chasing after him through the darkness. Few things were as scary as the water you cannot see. The ex-Drykas’ breath increased in speed so rapidly he believed an anxiety attack would follow, and that very thought was enough to complete the self-fulfilling prophecy. The ground below him grew in steepness as he ran towards the end of the ship, towards the stairwell that connected to both the cannon deck and upper deck. Thankfully, his bare feet offered good traction. The steepness was so great now that everything in the deck began rolling down, be it the corpses, the barrels of supplies, the personal objects of the crew and even the mounted guns. It was a slowly-building avalanche, which made Wikus stumble a few times, but not strong enough to hurt him in any major way. Once on the stairwell, he could barely catch breath, for his lungs refused to let the cold air in.
Only when he was outside he could witness the whole mess; the mast and sails had fallen and covered the water, the ship was split in half, and screams and yells made up the symphony of the night. There was not enough time to contemplate, for the ship was going into the water. Wikus fell to his fours, using his flesh as traction whilst he climbed to the front of the ship. The corpses of the crew rolled down into the water, and so did their belongings. The bowsprit was the last destination, currently the highest point of the sinking ship. Too panicked to think straight, Wikus did the only thing he felt reasonable; try to jump onto the remains of the dock. And so he did, falling almost ten feet in a very nasty way, ending up on his knees with a pain he’d most likely never forget. Nonetheless, he felt safe. Or safer.
It was only then when he took a moment to see what had happened. Besides the ship he arrived, another big ship’s hull was damaged. Surely the first bang heard was because of that. The second bang was when the dead vessel slammed through the docks, breaking not only itself but also the docking itself. People had gathered all around, watching, yelling and shouting. And it was clear they had seen Wikus jump off the dead vessel. Those same crowds also witnessed how Wikus just began running off, limping, before he was captured.
Thanks to Gossamer for this amazing template!
