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Post by Deleted on Feb 3, 2016 20:39:13 GMT -5
Arthas leaned over the ship's railing and vomited his meager fish dinner back into the sea where it came from.
'Blurgh' he said to the rolling waves and sea foam with bits of his dinner floating on top. A strong hand thumped him on the back and a too loud voice said 'Still sick Art?'
'Arghlblargl' replied Arthas as his stomach found more food to expel.
'You try some ginger?'
'Guh'
'Peppermint?'
'Urgh'
'Well, nothin for it then'
'Wo... Woman!'
'How's that gonna help your stomach?'
'No, woman! there!' Arthas croaked, pointing a shaky finger at a spot in the sea.
'What? Ain't nothi.. Ah hells! Man overboard!'
Arthas swallowed hard on the urge to vomit again and stumbled back to his cabin, retrieving his medicine bag he waited for the crew to pull the woman over the side and pushed his way forward. 'Make way, I can help.'
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Jeff
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Post by Jeff on Feb 5, 2016 15:21:30 GMT -5
Daksy climbed up the tumblehome, using the rope for support. About halfway up, vomit passed her on its way down. She shrugged and smiled at that too. When she was just below the edge of the deck, strong, callused hands reached to lift her up gently and set her down.
“Right,” she said with no preamble. “You’ve not shaped a course for Mynos then, have you? Because the wind is fair for such a thing, and I find myself in need of being there.”
Astonished, the sailors glanced at each other. Then the man who had thrown the rope down to her grinned and patted Daksy on the back. Hard. The other sailors followed suit.
About then was when she collapsed.
~~~~
Daksy awoke to a face in her face. She was lying on the deck of a ship (A ship! her mind sang) with a youngish human dabbing a cool cloth to her forehead and what she could practically smell as more fresh water close at hand. His face had a determined look to it, and seemed to be an abnormal shade of green.
"Hello," she said to the face. "Are you always this green?"
Arthas, who had started to feel better with his mind distracted by ministering to this castaway, looked her in the eye. And then burped.
Daksy wrinkled her nose at the smell but grinned. "I'll take that as a no then." She sat up. "I'm feeling much better. Do I have you to thank?"
The booming voice of the sailor who'd thrown her a line, who she vaguely remembered hearing the others call 'Portside George' before she must have feinted from dehydration, rang out, looking like he interrupted Arthas before he could gather his thoughts. "You do and that's a certain, little elf! Art here's some kinda healer we reckon. Knows a lot 'bout most things, leastways. But more'n him you got his lubber's legs to thank! Weren't for Art losin' his dinner over the rail, we might not have spotted you!"
Arthas blinked and smiled weakly.
"Speakin' on," continued Portside George, "I've a word to have with young Sally up in the crow's nest. Supposed to be on the lookout..." The sailor trailed off as he made his way inboard.
"Seasick are you?" Daksy cocked her head to the side as if pondering something, then reached into her belt pouch to pull out a flat, rounded stone. "I've just the thank you. You've heard of ioun stones, right?"
The man nodded.
"Well this here is a DRY-on stone, mate. Best thing for it. What you do is, you take this stone and you tuck it in your boot. Makes you feel like you're walkin' on dry land. Does a wonder." She offered the stone up to Arthas.
"Just make sure you switch boots every morn. You don't want only one leg thinkin' it's a sea leg!"
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Feb 5, 2016 23:25:57 GMT -5
Arthas took the stone gingerly with both hands; speaking solemnly in the most formal (and archaic) elvish he knew: ![]() ![]()  (roughly translated: Of all the glories of heaven none are more precious than this gift! I should die a thousand deaths before repaying even a thousandth of the debt you have placed upon me!) Daksy stared at Arthas blankly for a moment before erupting in gales of laughter. Arthas sat on the deck and began removing his left boot, 'You're on your way to Mynos? We are too! I'm going there to meet with Mister Wesson and join the Radiant! Master Grendy wrote me a letter of recommendation and I've always wanted to see the world and write my book. Oh! and you're an elf!" Arthas shouted; his sea sickness forgotten in his excitement. "You can help me with the elvish vernacular! Master Grendy says I sound as if I'd learned it from a very old book... Which is funny since I learned it from him. I bet you can tell me a lot about the elves and the world! and why you were stranded! Why were you stranded!? Was it a kraken!? Let me get my journal!' he exclaimed in a rush to get all his thoughts out, then jumped up and limped his way to his cabin looking like a man with a rock in one of his boots. |
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Jeff
Plebian
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Post by Jeff on Feb 18, 2016 14:44:38 GMT -5
The storm that came upon them that night changed attitudes.
Daksy had offered to help, in course. But the sailors, being a superstitious lot by long tradition, weren’t certain. Rescues were good luck, some said. Driast loves a sailor what pulls another out of the water. But others argued that elves couldn’t be not but bad luck, could they? What with them probably not wanting their precious trees made into masts and deck planks and such. And letting one up with the topmen to furrow sails? Not on this ship, mate.
In the end the nay-sayers had won out. And so it was that Daksy sat next to Arthas Thomms, on a crate down in the forward cargo hold among the other passengers who’d paid the least for their passage, patting the human cleric gently on the back and looking around for something else for him to be sick into. Other than his enormous hat.
The hold around them swayed with the ship, sometimes alarmingly. Hammocks hanging from the deck above would swing together in a flock, then become out-of-sync and jumble into each other as a rogue wave would knock the ship off her rhythm. Two inches or so of water sloshed around them, washing whatever rat droppings and other filth had littered the hold into view for them all. Hence the crates, and the mutual inclination to keep one’s feet above the waterline.
The ship, she had learned, was the Forerunner. Also out of Blackdawn City she had been told, though she found it strange she’d never before heard the name. Forerunner’s topmasts had long been struck down onto the deck, and they rode through the storm with staysails alone. She was not a dry ship. Arthas had asked what the noise they could now hear constantly was, when he figured out it was a noise in addition to the wind and rain. She had had to explain to him that the working of the ship, the constant battering and motion caused by the storm-tossed sea, brought water in through her seems. The noise was the pump, manned by the sailors to bring water up out of the bilge in the bottom of the ship and over her side.
He had listened intently, fascinated at learning the process and only slightly green. She found her heart warming to him, and was grateful of it after all she’d been through recently.
It was about then that the passengers turned on her.
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