Completed Getting Whipped Into Shape

[Salara Kel'Halavath]

Shipboard Day 5 517 AV Summer Who would have thought time shipboard would be so…tedious? Only 5 days gone but it felt like all the days from Zeltiva to Syliras rolled together, but without those special few who made the time pass so easily. She had no responsibilities here to distract her thoughts, yet she’d managed to keep her days full in exploring the schooner from bow to stern and in making plans for Riverfall with Fallon. But her nights under Leth’s purview were spent miserably swinging in a hammock trying not to wake her bunkmate while wrapped in a bloody old shirt reliving better memories and those last painfully precious moments with a mis-guided shipwright. A teeter totter of emotions, at times she felt such anger and disappointment at where they had ended up; traveling to opposite ends of the continent, but what good was it doing her to feel such? Their love story had ended and that was that. So each morning with Syna’s light she wished to whichever deity would listen for nothing but his happiness and hoped he, his family and her friends were all safe and doing well. By day she submersed herself into her environment, such that it was; but today she kept catching herself pacing along the rails. Back and forward, her padded feet fell soft on the scrubbed and polished deck; but the language of her body, fore shoulders hunched, head lowered with ears pinned flat, and tail whipping ensured she would not be bothered. Today was not a good day. Although there was little hesitation in welcoming her up on deck as a woman, the crew had quickly learned not to approach the cougar. The first mate figured it out fast when he attempted patting her head - apparently a common thing to do to Kelvics in some lands – he’d come away with nasty scratches. Word got out that there was nothing ‘domestic’ about her. She had made acquaintance with the cook, ‘Cookie’ of course, who didn’t have fresh red meat to serve up but didn’t mind her donating the occasional rat or few, ‘fer a roit proper stew,’ wink wink. Skinny Bogart was teaching her how to fish the deep waters after laughing himself silly over her meager attempts with a rig set for Speckled Browncoats. He’d lent her a massive long pole and was teaching her about different live baits like squid and rays. So far she hadn’t caught a thing and too much waiting left her mind wandering unhappily. There was at least one retired slaver in their midst. Salara spotted him quickly and warily avoided him, an unwelcome reminder of her past and where she might have been if she had traveled to Ravok. Back and forth, back and forth, she will have worn a path up one end and down the other of the ship’s deck by the time they reached their destination. She needed a distraction to keep her mind busy and her body in shape. In Riverfall she wouldn’t be as free or safe as she had been in Zeltiva. Although she anticipated plenty of opportunity in either form there would be times that she would not be free to shift, even for her own protection. Her mind turned towards weapon work and in a blink she’d bounded down the steps to their small cabin, emerging soon with her bull whip10-inch black leather handle, the thong is 10-foot braided leather ending with and a 10-inch replaceable fall. There is no cracker to distribute the sound farther so it is more difficult to hear unless you are on the receiving end of it. trailing loosely behind.

[Salara Kel'Halavath]

The forward mast seemed the least occupied space for her to practice most safely without interrupting the sailors’ tasks. It would feel good to concentrate on something other than her thoughts while venting a little frustration. Ironically as a target, there was a unique discoloration about chest high upon the mast that her imagination cultivated as a bloodstain, true or not. Measuring the distance with the length of her whip she toes a scuff line and stands square to the discoloration. With the handle griped firmly in her right hand, held aimed at the target, the length trails back and behind. In one smooth motion she brings her hand up above her head with elbow locked, lets whip fall…. and yelps at the pinching sting instantly radiating from her calve. That was going to leave a nasty bruise. Disgruntled, she tries again, this time ensuring the braided length was a touch farther out from her leg. Aim, lift and drop…*smack,* a welt immediately splotches angry red in the bare flesh below her elbow. “Petch,” she growls at herself as she picks the whip up from the deck where it had dropped in a clatter when her hand went numb at the strike. Tucking it under her armpit she rubs at the pain while wriggling tingly fingers until the numbness fades. Her gaze scans the deck around finding not one soul looking in her direction – all studiously involved in sailing, swabbing, or coiling. Scowling now at the offensive colors on the mast she squares up a third time. Aims the whip dead on; and, with a soft growl, brings the whip up above her head…and stops dead in the air as a vice-like strength squeezes her hand. Bewildered her arm jerks as it tries again to bring the whip down and it doesn’t budge. Then her instincts take control as she finally senses someone way too near. Twisting swiftly around, her first glance is of a frightening visage standing over her shoulder holding the whip and her hand immobile within a huge hairy fist. The Slaver. Baring her teeth in a feral hiss, her free hand swings a sharp swipe to his face but it stops just as firmly as he easily catches her wrist while her clawing fingers struggle for release. “Lady Cat, mind yourself.” His voice rumbles deep warning in heavy accent of Ravok. Wide-eyed and reared back as far as her stretched arms allow, she all but spits, “Unhand me now!” Insistent, her arms tugs again in vain effort to be free. The slaver stretches his hands higher effectively drawing her much closer to his scowling face to growl, “Be still. Be glad that I stopped ya before ya put an eye out or scarred that pretty face.” He jerks his hands high again pulling her nearly to his nose. Absently her mind noted that it had been broken many times and not always set properly. His face was etched in lines of pain, anger and age- no laughter. “Or get me or me mates hurt.” Of which was the more dangerous result, obviously. In a long-lashed blink his meaning finally gets through her need for fight or flight and she sags in his highhanded hold. This man could break her into bits as he likely has broken many Kelvics and other slaves in his time. “Yes, of course, please?” She’d never really had a chance even if she hadn’t been taken by surprise. He harrumphs in her face after a critical, measuring look before unfolding his fingers around her left wrist and right hand allowing her arms to drop, but doesn’t release the whip. Nailing her to her spot with a look, the big man methodically coils the thin braided line. Oh yes, he had done that many times. “Havin’ yur tail in a twist and playin’ with this does not mix.” He shakes the butt of it at her, “Ya must be aware, always, of where the tip is and where it will go.” Then holding the whip out until she takes it, he steps back crossing his forearms across his chest. She eyes him speculatively and seeing he intended on staying she offers, “I’m Salara.” He harrumphs again without reciprocation. Shrugging noncommittal she squares up facing the target, holds the whip as if giving a handshake aimed ahead. Taking a tick to ensure the end properly trailed behind - not too near her leg and not to far - in one smooth continuous motion she lifts the whip strait up and allows it’s natural weight to drop it before her. *CRACK* A bright sliver of fresh wood appears nearly center of the stained mast. Pleased and feeling some sense of accomplishment she looks for comment from her audience. “Bowdel.” His name she presumes. “Repeat until ya get ten cracks in a row. If I ever see ya trailin’ a whip behind ya while ya walk, I will tie ya to the mast and use it on ya.” Turning his back he leaves her to her task. It would be awhile and several more welts before she gets ten consecutive cracks. Forward Crack

[Grim Ravenwood]

Your Grades

Salara:

Skills:
Intimidation: 1
Fishing: 1
Endurance: 1
Weapon - Whip: 1

Lores:
Self: Anything but tame
Self: Time shipboard is boring
Bull Whip: Leaves a nasty Bruise
Bull Whip: Always know where the tip is

Grader's Comments:
Short, but sweet. I really liked going over the thread, and i mean it! Make sure to mark your request as graded and such. Also, pm me if you think i missed out on a lore or skill, or if you want lores for the various NPCs mentioned in the thread.

As always, Death guide you~
Grim