Post by Aldrid on May 3, 2014 7:25:36 GMT
The soft lapping of the waves lapping against the hull of the boat lulled the crew into a state of lethargy, as the late noon sun beat down upon them with its warm, unforgiving touch. The soft creak of ropes and squeaking of un-oiled pulleys mingled with the grunts of the men who worked tirelessly; though there was no winds to fill its sails, the men never grew lax. It really was a sight to behold. Their angry mutterings were suppressed and kept to a minimum which only fed their agitation. They didn't dare curse with important clientele on board, and more importantly, a woman. They glared at her both with apprehension and the desire in men who had not known the touch of a companion in sometime - but they didn't so much as speak to her. The first few days of travel of their two week voyage had been the most awkward. Kerrigan was not unaware of how odd she appeared among those who lived fully clothed, and in the confines of their cities. She only wore the skins of animals, covering her more vital areas, traditional attire of the shamans and the hunters of her tribe; her skin was often painted with the juice of crushed berries, and her dark hair decorated with feathers and strands of golden wheat. She wore no shoes, and always carried a spear in hand - her provocative attire had earned many looks. They scorned her and found it rather "uncivilized" for her to be without clothing - and she found them rather hypocritical and people without the joy of freedom.
Kerrigan knew she was the object of blame for their misfortune, as superstition said that the men of sea only had one mistress and that was the open waters. They had been stuck like this for some two days and a half. Everyone had grown restless, including her. Rations were low in supply, and some foolish folk in their desperation had drunk the salted water of the sea, leaving them in a dehydrated delirium and costing more fresh water to quench their thirst and free their minds from the terrible grips of hallucinations, and sights of their own demons. Kerrigan knew that when people turned to such drastic measures, things would quickly worsen. They needed to dock soon. She had not come all this way from the open plains where trees grew tall, and the people roamed like the animals, wild and free to simply remain idle; but the winds did not stir, and for it, the boat did not move. Kerrigan's feet began to itch, and with it, her frustrations grew. Maybe they could make some progress after all. Crossing the deck of the ship, she quickly darted below deck, much to the relief of the crew.
The hull of the boat was dank, and smelled musty. It was stuffy and warm, the air was stifling and stale. The wreak of fruit beginning to rot made the already stagnant atmosphere stink pungently with decay and a sweetness that left one's eyes watering. It really was a miserable ship. The plains-woman was lucky enough to have her cabin nearest the edges of the ship, giving her a port window sealed with thick metal and glass; it couldn't be opened, and because of that, the glass magnified the heat of the sun's rays and warmed the room to be almost insufferable - but for her, it only reminded her of her far away home, and the place she could never return to. With a grim expression, she sat herself on the floor with her long, slender legs crossing under her. Her fingers curled over the ends of her knees, and her back straightened, before her eyes closed and she began to breathe with careful control. As she lost herself to her meditations, she found as if every part of her was beginning to open, like the flourishing petals of a freshly blooming flower. As she opened up to the world, the world opened up to her...
The ebb and flow of the world about her touched against her spirit - something that could only be described as tranquil, and weightless. The warmth and the air, the sea, the people... everything was in some odd, harmony with each other, working together in some strange, unseen unison despite the evident discontent; it was the way of the world, spirits dancing and twining together in an endless, seamless flow. Kerrigan was small amid the stream, though like any fine tapestry, no matter how small the thread, it was always significant. However, she had a purpose in her presence in the stream of things. With a bit of concentration, she began to search through the endless stream, until a single thread came into sight. Reaching out, her ethereal hands grasped it, and gave a slight tug, pulling it away from the rest. It took a bit of patience and effort. If she wasn't careful, she could unravel the spirits around her, and it would consume and destroy her. They did not take kindly to being meddled with. Her touch was practiced and gentle though, and eventually she got the effect that she wanted.
The boat rocked. The yelps of men above made her pull away from the spirits of the world, and her eyes opened with a thin smile. The boat rocked again. Looking out the window, she noticed the surface of the otherwise placid water ripple with the gentle caress of the wind. She had called, and it had come. A powerful gust struck the boat's side, causing the wood to creak and protest. Soon enough, the boat was moving once more along the surface of the water, skipping happily along like a school girl who had been given freshly made sweats. Rising to her feet, the woman grabbed her spear and darted from her room and up on to the deck. The flowing air tugged mischievously at her hair and lack of clothing. She didn't care. More people came streaming up on to the deck, trying to stay out of the way of the sailors. The movement had coaxed them out into the open air to marvel at its cooling touch. Finally, things would be moving along.
Kerrigan had eventually found herself resting among a series of nets, finding the tangled mess comfortable to suspend herself in and rest. No one paid her any mind. She was out of their way, and that was all they cared about. Finally she had been woken, though not by sound or physically being roused - but by silence. The air had grown still again, and the boat hadn't quite stopped. The sailors hadn't gone below deck to rest, but to take to the oars. Normally they slept at night, and in this warm weather, it was almost suicide to spend such labor in the sweltering hull. Something was amiss. Sitting up, she extricated herself from her resting place, and paused when the low voices of men muttering about sinister things caught her keen ears, "We aren't far now, sir... just off to port you can see its shadow." One of the figures pointed, his face gaunt and looking haunted in the flickering light of the torch. The other was an aged sea faring man, weathered and grim. He gave a slight nod and rubbed his thick bearded chin anxiously, "Aye... I know of it. Have the men row double time. We will not stop until we are out of si-" His words were suddenly cut off by a dull, ominous thud.
Everything fell silent again. There it was again, reverberating against the black of night. It was a dull, thunderous sound like the beating of a drum. It rung out from the depths of the night, completely unseen. Kerrigan peered out over the edge where it had come from. The night air fell quiet. A measure of silence carried on when suddenly from the darkness, a black shadow-like ghost crashed straight into the ship, exploding in a thick black fog and washing over it. The air quickly grew thick and choked her. Her skin was chilled from the touch of the dead, and the light was swallowed whole. Dark Spirits. Grimacing, she grasped her spear and somehow managed to recall her years of training. With a quick motion and choking out a verse of chant in some strange language, there was a loud hiss like fat burning on the fire. The darkness swirled thickly about her but quickly dispersed. Looking about with a wild expression, her eyes fell on where the men had been prior - or rather, what was left of them.
Both lay as a writhing mess of blood and flesh upon the deck of the ship, skin torn from bone and dashed about the deck. Their insides lay strewn over the many apparatuses of the boat. She covered her mouth to keep from retching at the sight before her. How terrible. She leaned on the banister of the ship, and looked over the edge. The water was black. Her eyes trailed upwards when she heard a haunting laugh, and went rigid at what she saw. There right in front of them was land, as if it had simply appeared from nowhere. As they approached, the thick fog set about it slowly pealed away to reveal the lonely isle. Kerrigan hadn't felt so afraid in all her life. Something was terribly wrong. The land was barren and sickly, and the atmosphere hung with a thick, corrupt veil that it was practically visible as a large, black wisp that clung to the mountain tops. The boat bumped roughly against ground, grating as it was welcomed by earth and held still. She didn't hesitate. Leaping agilely from the boat, she landed among the rough pebbles on legs like springs. Spear in hand, she suppressed the desire to shudder.
The air was frigid, causing her breath to escape in a silvery huff. Her toes quickly grew numb in the shallow water, and it was hard to concentrate with the prickling sensation that tore through her body, vicious and unforgiving. Kerrigan took a moment to calm her mind and call forth the spirit of fire within, bringing warmth to her flesh once more. Something sinister had taken this place, and she would have to vanquish it - or at least, that is what she hoped to accomplish. Without looking back at the boat, she began to set off on to the island. The beach of stone was quickly turned to dirt, and large trees clawed desperately at the sky, as if begging for salvation and release. Touching her hand to one of the mourning sentinels, she flinched and drew away. It was cold inside, but not yet dead. All she had felt from its spirit was pain and agony, a twisting corruption that warped its fate into something unspeakable. It brought a deep agony to her heart, and with it, a fiery rage. Whatever had claimed this place as its home could not remain. Fear rippled through her. Could she do it? She had never faced something of this power before. She had faced demons and spirits before, but nothing quite like this... Suddenly, Kerrigan felt doubtful. Even armed with the knowledge and power of her ancestors, and the names of spirits, she was only just one woman...
Kerrigan knew she was the object of blame for their misfortune, as superstition said that the men of sea only had one mistress and that was the open waters. They had been stuck like this for some two days and a half. Everyone had grown restless, including her. Rations were low in supply, and some foolish folk in their desperation had drunk the salted water of the sea, leaving them in a dehydrated delirium and costing more fresh water to quench their thirst and free their minds from the terrible grips of hallucinations, and sights of their own demons. Kerrigan knew that when people turned to such drastic measures, things would quickly worsen. They needed to dock soon. She had not come all this way from the open plains where trees grew tall, and the people roamed like the animals, wild and free to simply remain idle; but the winds did not stir, and for it, the boat did not move. Kerrigan's feet began to itch, and with it, her frustrations grew. Maybe they could make some progress after all. Crossing the deck of the ship, she quickly darted below deck, much to the relief of the crew.
The hull of the boat was dank, and smelled musty. It was stuffy and warm, the air was stifling and stale. The wreak of fruit beginning to rot made the already stagnant atmosphere stink pungently with decay and a sweetness that left one's eyes watering. It really was a miserable ship. The plains-woman was lucky enough to have her cabin nearest the edges of the ship, giving her a port window sealed with thick metal and glass; it couldn't be opened, and because of that, the glass magnified the heat of the sun's rays and warmed the room to be almost insufferable - but for her, it only reminded her of her far away home, and the place she could never return to. With a grim expression, she sat herself on the floor with her long, slender legs crossing under her. Her fingers curled over the ends of her knees, and her back straightened, before her eyes closed and she began to breathe with careful control. As she lost herself to her meditations, she found as if every part of her was beginning to open, like the flourishing petals of a freshly blooming flower. As she opened up to the world, the world opened up to her...
The ebb and flow of the world about her touched against her spirit - something that could only be described as tranquil, and weightless. The warmth and the air, the sea, the people... everything was in some odd, harmony with each other, working together in some strange, unseen unison despite the evident discontent; it was the way of the world, spirits dancing and twining together in an endless, seamless flow. Kerrigan was small amid the stream, though like any fine tapestry, no matter how small the thread, it was always significant. However, she had a purpose in her presence in the stream of things. With a bit of concentration, she began to search through the endless stream, until a single thread came into sight. Reaching out, her ethereal hands grasped it, and gave a slight tug, pulling it away from the rest. It took a bit of patience and effort. If she wasn't careful, she could unravel the spirits around her, and it would consume and destroy her. They did not take kindly to being meddled with. Her touch was practiced and gentle though, and eventually she got the effect that she wanted.
The boat rocked. The yelps of men above made her pull away from the spirits of the world, and her eyes opened with a thin smile. The boat rocked again. Looking out the window, she noticed the surface of the otherwise placid water ripple with the gentle caress of the wind. She had called, and it had come. A powerful gust struck the boat's side, causing the wood to creak and protest. Soon enough, the boat was moving once more along the surface of the water, skipping happily along like a school girl who had been given freshly made sweats. Rising to her feet, the woman grabbed her spear and darted from her room and up on to the deck. The flowing air tugged mischievously at her hair and lack of clothing. She didn't care. More people came streaming up on to the deck, trying to stay out of the way of the sailors. The movement had coaxed them out into the open air to marvel at its cooling touch. Finally, things would be moving along.
Kerrigan had eventually found herself resting among a series of nets, finding the tangled mess comfortable to suspend herself in and rest. No one paid her any mind. She was out of their way, and that was all they cared about. Finally she had been woken, though not by sound or physically being roused - but by silence. The air had grown still again, and the boat hadn't quite stopped. The sailors hadn't gone below deck to rest, but to take to the oars. Normally they slept at night, and in this warm weather, it was almost suicide to spend such labor in the sweltering hull. Something was amiss. Sitting up, she extricated herself from her resting place, and paused when the low voices of men muttering about sinister things caught her keen ears, "We aren't far now, sir... just off to port you can see its shadow." One of the figures pointed, his face gaunt and looking haunted in the flickering light of the torch. The other was an aged sea faring man, weathered and grim. He gave a slight nod and rubbed his thick bearded chin anxiously, "Aye... I know of it. Have the men row double time. We will not stop until we are out of si-" His words were suddenly cut off by a dull, ominous thud.
Everything fell silent again. There it was again, reverberating against the black of night. It was a dull, thunderous sound like the beating of a drum. It rung out from the depths of the night, completely unseen. Kerrigan peered out over the edge where it had come from. The night air fell quiet. A measure of silence carried on when suddenly from the darkness, a black shadow-like ghost crashed straight into the ship, exploding in a thick black fog and washing over it. The air quickly grew thick and choked her. Her skin was chilled from the touch of the dead, and the light was swallowed whole. Dark Spirits. Grimacing, she grasped her spear and somehow managed to recall her years of training. With a quick motion and choking out a verse of chant in some strange language, there was a loud hiss like fat burning on the fire. The darkness swirled thickly about her but quickly dispersed. Looking about with a wild expression, her eyes fell on where the men had been prior - or rather, what was left of them.
Both lay as a writhing mess of blood and flesh upon the deck of the ship, skin torn from bone and dashed about the deck. Their insides lay strewn over the many apparatuses of the boat. She covered her mouth to keep from retching at the sight before her. How terrible. She leaned on the banister of the ship, and looked over the edge. The water was black. Her eyes trailed upwards when she heard a haunting laugh, and went rigid at what she saw. There right in front of them was land, as if it had simply appeared from nowhere. As they approached, the thick fog set about it slowly pealed away to reveal the lonely isle. Kerrigan hadn't felt so afraid in all her life. Something was terribly wrong. The land was barren and sickly, and the atmosphere hung with a thick, corrupt veil that it was practically visible as a large, black wisp that clung to the mountain tops. The boat bumped roughly against ground, grating as it was welcomed by earth and held still. She didn't hesitate. Leaping agilely from the boat, she landed among the rough pebbles on legs like springs. Spear in hand, she suppressed the desire to shudder.
The air was frigid, causing her breath to escape in a silvery huff. Her toes quickly grew numb in the shallow water, and it was hard to concentrate with the prickling sensation that tore through her body, vicious and unforgiving. Kerrigan took a moment to calm her mind and call forth the spirit of fire within, bringing warmth to her flesh once more. Something sinister had taken this place, and she would have to vanquish it - or at least, that is what she hoped to accomplish. Without looking back at the boat, she began to set off on to the island. The beach of stone was quickly turned to dirt, and large trees clawed desperately at the sky, as if begging for salvation and release. Touching her hand to one of the mourning sentinels, she flinched and drew away. It was cold inside, but not yet dead. All she had felt from its spirit was pain and agony, a twisting corruption that warped its fate into something unspeakable. It brought a deep agony to her heart, and with it, a fiery rage. Whatever had claimed this place as its home could not remain. Fear rippled through her. Could she do it? She had never faced something of this power before. She had faced demons and spirits before, but nothing quite like this... Suddenly, Kerrigan felt doubtful. Even armed with the knowledge and power of her ancestors, and the names of spirits, she was only just one woman...
