Betwixt Wind and Water [Solo + Entrance Thread]

[Pash'nar]

Timestamp: 1st of Spring, 512. Early morning. This was not, unfortunately, the first time Pash'nar had ever found himself completely at the mercy of Laviku. And it was not (he hoped as the squat old saique groaned ominously and rocked precariously in the stomach-wrenchingly tall storm-churned waves) the last. In comparison to the entirety of the uneventful and almost relaxing journey from Syliras, in which he had actually enjoyed navigating calm seas and exchanging a few mizas in several hands of cards, today was very quickly turning into the worst day of his currently earthbound life. Well, okay, the second worst. This storm had come from nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. And it was anything but natural. The night had been clear, near perfect navigation conditions, and the warm glow of Alvadas had faded into the sun rise with the promise of cloudless blue skies. Pash'nar had just announced the docks of Alvadas, city of Illusion and their final destination for the season, were in sight when the first signs of something completely and utterly wrong befell their glassy stretch of the Suvan Sea. The silence became tangible and the wind died in their sails. Then, clouds seemed to roll in from nowhere: dark, heavy, and disturbing. The sea lurched and something worse than lightning crackled and pealed across the sky, something magical and terrible— "Some 'un gonna belay 'at line?" Shouted Quicks, the wiry first mate who still clung desperately to the helm, barely audible above the howl of the djed-charged wind, snapping Pash out of his brief, distracted moment. "Aye!" Blinking away the fiery, tingling, freezing rain that tore at his skin, he released his tight-fisted grip on the afterdeck railing just as the merchant vessel rumbled deep in her stern again—louder—and pitched sideways with the roll of a towering black wave. His intent was to join the rest of the crew scrambling to hold the poor old girl together, but instead he found the slick wet deck rising to meet his whole body with unwelcome speed. With a fleshy slap, the Svefra sprawled onto the lower deck several feet below his original perch, brain-numbingly cold sea water crashing over the bilge and sweeping across the practically sideways ship. Pash couldn't hear the shouts of surprise and horror as a handful of crew members simply disappeared into sea foam and darkness, for another peal of teeth-rattling thunder rolled overhead as the waters receded for a heartbeat or two. The rush of ice-cold brine threatened to drag him into the sea as well, sliding down the near-vertical deck until the ship righted itself with a loud crack. "Look out!" A single voice rose above the chaos to reach his stinging ears. Nayel, the cook, flashed a panicked expression in the navigator's direction, waving a pan wildly. The mast was falling. This was not a good sign. Pash slipped and half-slid, half-rolled backwards to almost a stand just in time to avoid the crushing force of the mast smashing into the deck. A tangle of sails and ropes whipped through the air behind it, however, caught up in the terrible wind. The smack of magical rain-soaked canvas connected with his own chest just as he was getting his footing on the rolling saique, sending him crashing back down again, this time against the precarious edge of the bilge rails. The Svefra hissed a proper string of blush-worthy sailor's curses in a surge of pain, exhaling through his teeth as he struggled to find a grip on some part of the ship and stand, body aching from the blow. He now found himself too close to the wild, bone-chilling Suvan itself than he currently felt comfortable considering. The water below them was surely shallow by now. They were truly but a short distance from the docks. It seemed impossible for the ship to be tossed about to these extremes, but everything about this storm was obviously impossible. Pash made a cautious leap for the fallen mast, landing just shy of the angrily rippling canvas that left a welted gash across his mostly bare chest. He struggled for a grip on a fly-away line just in time for the little vessel to lurch again, hard. The whole ship rumbled deeply and rolled, shuddering as if something shoved it from below. Water snaked angrily under the hull as it was greedily pulled in one direction, building something horrible from the opposite side, "What the peh--" In a heartbeat, the deck and mast and everything else seemed to fly from underneath him and the rest of the struggling crew and a towering inky wave finally tossed the ship into the air. Barnacled beams protested the force of the sideways blow, moaning and creaking and finally giving in: the vessel buckled against the djed-churned surface of the sea. Wood splintered, bodies flew, and cold sea water washed over everything. For a brine-infused heartbeat, everything felt frozen and still as Pash disappeared under the foamy darkness. The rush of his pulse pounded in his ears and he felt the air knocked from his lungs in a stream of confused bubbles as the shock of cold water cut through flesh to chill his already aching bones. Up. Up. Up he fought to burst through rain and debris, rising with the next wave and gasping for breath. He spotted crew members, comrades, a blink of the captain, a flash of the cook, and the glint of cargo strewn by the surging force of the magical storm. The water was instantly numbing, and while Pash was grateful the ruling of the day found him in Svefran seeming, he was unsure if the fleshly heritage of some past life would be enough to keep him in his current one for long. Another wave roared under him, and he strained to squint in the right direction to find sight of the shore, Laviku's name stuttered from chilled lips in mumbled prayer for mercy. A brief hint of the docks peeked through the chaos, and Pash struggled painfully to regain control of his limbs to convince them swimming to shore was a far better option than drowning, especially when the weight of his clothing and satchel felt like the dead bodies of the entire crew clinging to his own, threatening to tug him below the surface at every pitch and toss of the waves. "This way—" ever the navigator, "-the docks aren't so fa—" Pash'nar began to yell hoarsely before a mouthful of brine sought to crawl into his lungs. He gurgled and sank below the surface for more heartbeats than he cared to count, narrowly avoiding a chunk of sea-tossed ship shrapnel. It was with great effort that he broke to the surface again, lungs on fire despite the chill that gripped his very core. Some of his shipmates were swimming, but it was nearly impossible to sight them all. He had to swim. Or die trying. Survival became his only thought, the searing motivation for his aching limbs to crawl and kick and stroke and dive. Surely, he would not leave his mortal seeming the same way he arrived into it. At least, he was not prepared to give Leth nor Laviku the satisfaction of such an ironic repeat performance. Not today. No petching way.

[Pash'nar]

Whether it was Laviku's mercy or Ionu's favor that he was finally within sight of the beach near the Patchwork Port, Pash'nar was incapable of being sure. The undertow had been steadily pulling him west of the docks themselves, yanking him to unexpected safety from the chaos of tossed ships and smashed moorings. Though the djed storm-churned waves themselves continued to threaten the Svefra with one final dunk—every time he struggled to surface after longer and longer beneath the dark, cold brine. Swimming was no longer an exercise of any physical skill but a dangerous game of pure willpower. It wasn't like he could feel the limbs he forced to move. Pash wasn't even sure he was still entirely conscious, for his vision was clouded and he could hardly hear his own pulse above the unnatural sounds of the terrifyingly unnatural storm. He had given up looking for the rest of the crew swimming. He'd almost given up looking for shore. He just kept painfully ordering his body to move, one stroke at a time. The navigator felt as though he might as well be going backwards. Surely, he was swimming in frozen tar. Leth would never see his nightly visage again, for Laviku would surely swallow him whole, mortal seeming and all. Sucked under the wild foam of another wave, Pash struggled to hold his breath. The sting of cold salt water filled his lungs as the force of the wave tossed him downward in a swirl of sand— —sand! The sudden glimmer of hope had the Svefra sputtering and gurgling, just in time for the pull of the surging tide to scrape his numb body across the sea floor—shells and stones greedily snagging at his feelingless flesh and leaden clothes. Somehow, twisting in the watery darkness, Pash'nar managed to plant his feet against the sandbar, and it took every ounce of his slipping consciousness to shove for the lightning-streaked sky. Upward again. So slow. In a burst of angry foam, he resurfaced, fire exploding in the frozen cavern of his chest at each gasped for breath in the burning rain of djed-induced chaos. Wildly, he flailed to get another bearing on the proximity of the shore. Of anything, really, anything but these gods-be-damned, petching, endless waves— SLAM! The next rolling fist of Laviku's djed-terrorized realm caught him by surprise and sent him careening helplessly back into the shallow depths, grabbing again for his exposed skin and ripping at his clothes. Precious air escaped his lips against his will in a pathetic watery groan. Pash let his eyes close against the fire of the salt water rushing across his face, mind drifting into the blur of the inky wet around him. He was tired. So tired. He could hardly feel his fingers brush across shell and stone. Ignoring the distant sear of pain, he dug his palms into the sea floor and shoved weakly upward again, this time managing to catch the forward motion of the next wave that threatened to keep him under. It took every drop of determination that hadn't been frozen or bled out of his earthbound seeming to open his eyes as he finally broke the surface again. Breathing was like swallowing fire, but it was better than the alternative. The wild tide surged him forward, finally, ever forward instead of downward. The sand bar gave away to a stretch of tide-worn beach, and soon Pash wasn't swimming so much as crawling. He couldn't tell when he left the water, though he could feel the pinpricks of the rain as it pelted through his soaked clothing. The magical drops flung from the sky somehow managed to reach the sea-numbed depths of his nervous system. It at least reminded him he was still conscious. Mostly. The Svefra dragged himself up the beach, only to notice in horror how the ground itself seethed and whorled with the unbridled ancient energy of the storm that raged around him. It was almost as terrible as the sea. Hunched over, he coughed and wheezed a small ocean of his own from his stomach back onto the rain-blasted sand. Wavering on his hands and knees, he couldn't bring his sea-frozen brain to conduct a physical assessment. He'd lost his cloak somewhere and probably some contents of his satchel. He was sure most of his cartography supplies were ruined. His clothes were torn. He was bleeding. He couldn't feel a thing. At least he could breathe. It was a start. He was alive from what he could tell. For now. He could work with that. The djed storm raged on around him still. It's dangers certainly were far worse than a long swim in the bitter cold sea, right …? His body felt like frozen lead. His mind wandered as he attempted to crawl further up the beach and away from the tideline, staring at the sand. Pash'nar drifted back through layers of time as his consciousness wavered in between shock and hypothermia. He remembered the first time he awoke, naked and alone, in Matthews Bay, far across the Suvan Sea. There had at least been stars to comfort him, familiar orbs of light. Today, there was only unnatural lightning, gut-wrenching thunder, and horrible clouds. His crawling slowed to a stop and the ethaefal curled into a shivering wet ball of flesh on the beach, collapsing inward in hopes of rekindling some precious hint of warmth other than the fire in his throat and lungs from too much brine. Slowly, numbness turned to tingling turned to pins and needles turned to heat in his limbs, spreading from somewhere in his aching chest and slowly traveling outwards towards his most frozen extremes. His mind wandered, half-unconscious. He was fishing. The rambunctious mix of cousins and brothers and in-laws that crowded the small fishing vessel were laughing, sharing some joke on the ethaefal who still only grasped at complete sentences as the full net slipped from his bleeding fingers and dragged him like some moon-colored catch of the day overboard into the sea with a howl of protest. n He was drinking. That curve of a bar wench had her fingers tangled in the stray wisps of his black hair, still sticky with beer. Ignoring the other patrons to taste the still-salty lips of his sea-worn mortal seeming, the woman somehow managed to balance a half-full pitcher of lager in her opposite hand before laughing her way back into the crowd. n He was fighting. The sharp rusty sting of his own blood on his tongue and the searing pain that erupted across his ribs seemed to bring things into focus instead of blur them. Some spark of life flared in rebellious joy as Pash swung for the other drunkard in the bar, raw knuckles connecting roughly to a stubbly jaw with a satisfying crack of bone and flesh. n He was sailing. Leth's round visage was full and heavy on the horizon and the sea was like glass. Every crest of every wave was etched and highlighted with moonlight, and the ship rocked in a soul-soothing rhythm to the wind in her sails. The faintest hint of land rose above the undulating horizon, lining up with practiced precision to the ethaefel's sextant measurements. He was— thunder shook him awake, literally causing the djed-ravaged earth to roll like the waves he had crawled from. How long had he been out? Hours? Days? Pash groaned and rolled to let the rain bite at his face, blinking away the dark shadows of unconsciousness and shock that threatened to drag him away again. The Patchwork Port was just down the beach. The navigator's vision was fuzzy and strange, but he could see the jostling, terrorized ships and the climb from the moorings up toward the mysterious walls of Alvadas herself. The Gaping Maw and the hope of shelter were at least petching closer than his ship was from here. Time slipped slowly by while he struggled to stand, feeling having returned painfully to his battered body. Carefully, fighting with every step to stay standing against the wind and the wild, unrestrained energy that ripped across the sea, Pash'nar began to make his way toward the city. Mortality was apparently not as easy to shake off he'd sometimes felt it could be. Someone, somewhere, was still favoring his earthbound existence it would seem. Did it matter who? Perhaps just a little. Slowly stumbling his way toward the Gaping Maw, Pash swore to himself this would be the last time he hired himself out to another ship. From now on, he'd stick to his own petching casinor. If he was going to drown at sea, he'd much rather it be in his home than anywhere else. Hopefully, it was still safely tucked away somewhere amongst the chaos. He'd miss that damn rickety thing if it'd been smashed to pieces, too.

[Fallacy]

XP Award! Name:Pash'nar XP Award: Acrobatics- 1 Swimming- 5 Lore: Djed Storm of Spring 512 Losing the Ship Struggle to live Semi-conscious memories Oath: His own Petching Casinor Notes: Injuries: Multiple bruises from the rough treatment of the sea A welted gash across the chest Small lacerations from the stones and shells when he was thrown onto shore by the sea Wow. A very enjoyable read for someones struggle to survive the ship being taken by the Djed storm. It may sound horrible, but it was really interesting reading about this characters struggle to survive amongst the waves of the ravishing storm! If I missed anything please dont hesitate to PM me with concerns or problems. Any questions or concerns about the rewards gained please send a PM