Testing the Waters [Solo | Job Thread]

[Pash'nar]

Timestamp: 59-73 Spring, 512 Location: The Suvan Sea Pash'nar had heard the rumors of how the djed storm that tried to kill him in the beginning of spring had made some rather dangerous changes to the sea that was so much a part of who he was. While his rickety old casinor, The Timeless, somehow managed to survive the destruction that swept through even Alvadas' Patchwork Port, he felt the need to see for himself what exactly had become to the briny realm of Laviku he called more home than anywhere else in the past handful of centuries or so. It wasn't like there was much to ship, or trade, or people interested in leaving what little they had left. What people wanted to know more was news. Were their relatives okay? Was this city still standing? Were friends still alive across the Suvan? These and many more questions were much more important to people in Alvadas and everywhere else, Pash'nar would soon discover. Hanging in taverns, gambling in the Wager, and wandering the docks were all filled with conversations of need, of curiosity, of fear. Petch the beasts dredged up by the storm, created in the chaos, people wanted to know what was going on across the land. He'd been approached before, earlier in the spring, just a few days after the storm, while he was still sore and aching from his near-death in the sea and his harrowing run through the Alvad streets into the Underground. Those who could write had letters. Those who couldn't just had names. They offered what coins they could spare to send some form of communication or hear something back. How the petch was he going to know all of these people? Or find them? Or bring word back? Well, Pash'nar hadn't worked any of that out yet. He'd happily take things across the sea, but he would need to figure out how to even find things out once he got there. Maybe the knights would be helpful, but that would require talking to one. Nevermind. His best resources would probably still be taverns, merchants, street urchins. Locals. He'd just have to do his best. Some of these letters didn't have recipients anymore anyway, after the storm. At first, he wasn't sure where to set course toward, but he knew keeping his arse out of waters too deep and areas too untraveled could tip the current odds out of his favor. He was just content to be out at sea again, no twisted streets of illusion or complicated conversations to bind him in any form. Just the sea, the wind, and the stars. Oh, and the moon, but he'd learned to accept that most of the time. His little old casinor asked no questions, and she listened. Really listened. Once he'd caught the wind and found his legs again, he set course for Syliras. No, he didn't like the place, but if anyone had news to spread, the fortress of a city was a good place to start … well, there was perhaps one better, but the ethaefal had long since distanced himself from too much time with his Svefra heritage. It was often too heavy a burden, an anchor dragging him along the sand, to piece together those pieces he didn't entirely know if he wanted to understand. Maybe someday. Maybe soon. Maybe this djed storm was a sign it was time. Still, hard-hearted and stubborn, Pash'nar kept his course toward the city of knights instead, hopeful that if the news was flowing there, a bit of trade would be, too.

[Pash'nar]

60 Spring, 512, Early Morning Just as Syna lifted her fingers to caress the sky over the horizon and the wind began to pick up after a slow night, Pash blearily awoke to the sounds of thumping against his worn casinor's old hull. Hardly dressed, the false Svefra stumbled out of his cabin to stare in horror at the gaping wooden corpse of some huge trade vessel floating in pieces around his little ship. He didn't see any bodies, but he wasn't entirely sure he should be looking. Quickly scrambling to the rudder and grabbing a gaff hook as he slid on the still-wet from dew deck, the false Svefra set about pushing his way clear of the wood clawing brokenly to hold his ship in place. Still, even has he prodded floaty bits out of the way, cerulean eyes couldn't help but stare, searching for anything useful. How long had they lasted in the storm? So close to Alvadas, and yet obviously too far away. What had destroyed them? No rocks. No sandbars out this far. This deep. Lightning? Wind? Magic? Worse? Pash'nar shuddered at the though of what creatures waited hungrily in the deep, despite a fire of curiosity kindled somewhere in his chest. He'd walked where gods held sway, so how terrifying would such a beast be? Not that he wanted to be swallowed. It was slow work, pushing and picking his way from the splinters of the cavernous merchant ship. Syna shone in her full noon glory overhead by the time he was clear of all the hull and back to setting his sights toward the south east. The wind was still at his back, which was a relief. He would be making good time, at least, even if it wouldn't make up for this horrible snag so soon in his journey. Still, his heart was heavier. His little casinor was but an appetizer in the smorgasbord of the sea.

[Pash'nar]

65 Spring, 512, Sometime at Night The winds had picked up nicely once Pash'nar had hit the open waters of the middle of the Suvan. The nights were clear, some nights without even a cloud in the sky like tonight. It was beautiful navigation weather, with the air still a bit crisp this far out at sea and the stars so bright and perfect. He took some time in the calm to record his observations, jotting down a few measurements with his sextant and his compass, sketching a few constellation positions during this time of year. It was relaxing under the soft glow of the lantern hung from his mast, a far cry from the chaos of Alvadas and a relief from the threat that normally hovered over the waters of the Suvan, afraid of what the djed storm may have dredged up from the depths of its dark waters. Once he was sure of his position and content with a few extra maps of the heavens at least mapped out but not yet detailed to add to his collection, the ethaefal put away his things and went back to tending the tiller and keeping himself on course. Eventually, he'd have to rest, but it was always so hard to decide when was a good time considering the kinds of potential dangers that lurked in the inky black brine below.

[Pash'nar]

Timestamp: 68 Spring, 512 The winds had slowed and it felt as though Pash's old casinor was simply crawling toward Syliras. It was more than just a little mind-numbing, scooting along slower than the clouds, it felt like. He considered fishing, just to pass the time. It was thoughtless enough to drop a couple of lines over the bilge rail at the stern of his ship, sitting as he was by his tiller anyway. He idly watched a pod of dolphin in the distance as Syna's rays sparkled off the waves, occasionally hidden by a few heavy clouds that threatened rain. It was a generally lazy day alone on the Suvan, which often gave Pash too much time to contemplate … well, to contemplate his life in general. This was not particularly his favorite past-time, preferring to occupy himself with anything but dwelling on the vast expanse of history that had already washed underneath the hull of his casinor or slipped through his calloused fingers. Not that he felt much like contemplating the future, either, given that his view on making plans for himself was affected by life on the sea—dangerous, unpredictable, but always full of something interesting. Well, except for today, apparently. The dark-haired navigator lounged restlessly on deck, watching his fishing lines out of the corner of his cerulean gaze while he picked through some of the letters and packages he'd agreed to carry to Syliras from the Alvads desperate for news from family and friends. While he wasn't about to open any of the carefully wrapped ones, he did peek in a few others, spying mostly trinkets and sentimental bits and pieces of things, objects that didn't entirely capture his interest considering they weren't all shiny and made of silver or sea glass. A handkerchief here, a knitted blanket there. Practical things, he supposed, but things Pash'nar personally had no experienced attachment with. He did still have some gifts from the fishing family that kept him, but he struggled with connecting to the sentiments others felt, especially since it had been a few decades since his so-called family had even been alive to visit and spend time with. Nothing was biting as he trolled along at a slow but steady speed through the calm sea, so he returned his armful of packages belowdecks in his cargo hold and sifted through the letters and papers to find a few that were unsealed and potentially interesting. Bringing them back up to the deck, he stretched out under the shade of his mainsail and let Syna's rays warm the tanned, tattooed skin of his back while he began to skim some of the carefully written notes for interesting bits. Most of them were worried, emotional, frightened, or even angry. It had been half a season and some folks seemed genuinely miffed that they hadn't heard anything from their families across the Suvan. How could they? Hardly any ships were petching sailing … and who wrote letters all the time anyway? What a waste. He grumbled, disappointed that no one had written juicily to any long-lost lover across the sea and now burdened with all the others' sad tales o suffering he'd let sink in through his tide pool gaze. Petch. There were reasons he didn't keep anyone—or at least too many—close. These petching sentiments were definitely proof he wasn't missing anything. Or was he? He didn't bother to think about it. With a sigh, he glanced at his lines and they were still unmoving. It was going to be a long day. Hauling the paper back into his hull again, he hovered belowdecks to stare at his ceiling, awash in sunlight from the skylights built into the cabin roof. Inked fingers traced familiar constellations painted in black and white across the worn wood of the roof of his cabin, a roughly accurate memory of the sky 116 years ago. The one memory he was willing to let sear itself into his mind. Slipping back up the stairs, he was happy to see that he had finally possibly caught something. At least the rest of his afternoon wouldn't be so petching boring, wrestling it back onto his deck from the depths of the Suvan.

[Pash'nar]

Timestamp: 73 Spring, 512 Syliras had no docks. They had been destroyed by the djed storm. While still in shock, Pash'nar navigated through the wreckage as best he could, stopping just within a decent depth so he could touch comfortably while his casinor was still not aground and dropping anchor, holding the rucksack of packages and letters above his head as he clambered over the side of his hull and waded ashore. What a petching mess. The wet hike up the beach and to the city gates were full of grumbling. Guards gave the tattooed sailor quite the stink-eye, being a sodding soaked Svefra with a bag full of junk. He tried to explain, tried to pass off his packages to the knights instead of having to do the footwork himself. They were much more keen on just sending him back to his boat and telling him to petch off. So, while he managed to weasel his way into the city with mostly benevolent purpose. Mostly. But now he was stuck with a rucksack full of sentimental shyke that wasn't his. What was he supposed to do? Well, he found himself some taverns, some small shops, some places with people. People who knew other people. People who could spread the word. Someone else to pass these burdens onto. It was difficult at first, attempting to shove his responsibilities on others. He wasn't the best with people, strangers, especially when sober. He could smile and he could speak well enough, but actually convincing people he meant well? Oh, that never went the way he planned, not in his daytime, tattooed earthbound form. Piece by piece, letter by letter, concern by concern, the false Svefra somehow managed to pass along the things he'd offered to carry to other people, to people who may have known the right people. It took a bit of extra work on his part, a few extra smiles here and there. Just getting rid of it. All of it. Telling what sad stories he could remember from the pages he'd read while on the slow sail into the port … or lack thereof. Once his rucksack was empty of memories, Pash realized he wasn't even in a city he could get drunk in. Not really drunk. Syliras just wasn't that kind of city, even in the broken state it was in after the djed storm. At least he could just crawl back to his boat and drink. That seemed like a good plan.

[Gossamer]

. Character: Pash’nar Experience: Sailing 2 XP, Navigation 2 XP, Observation 1 XP, Investigation 1 XP Lore: Sailing an Empty Sea, Witnessing First Hand The Devestation of The Djed Storm of 512, Occupying Oneself while alone, Introspection Fills the Time, Playing Courier for Coin Additional Note: Another job Solo. I’ve really enjoyed reading these, because they show Pash’nar’s solitude. Anyhow, I would have given more XP for sailing and navigation, but there was such little detail on how he went about sailing and navigating I only gave it where I could. I would have given fishing XP too if he’d done more than drop a line over the side. I gave you investigation in prodding the debris as he was navigating through broken bits of a vessel. Like pervious grades, I’d suggest you write DETAIL DETAIL DETAIL and I’ll give you tons of XP. . .