Flashback [Flashback] Good Work, If You Can Get It [Solo]

[Theo Coaststrider]

13th of Summer, 502. *thud* *thud* *thud* The hollow beat of a wooden mallet echoes through the cramped dry dock. The smells of pitch and fresh cut timber mix oddly with the unique stench of the sea. The pungent coctail of dead trees and slowly rotting maritime life is not in and of itself particularly unpleasant, but it is distracting. The dry-dock is a new experiment for the small fishing village on the banks of the South Suvan. A small canal dug into the earth and lined with timber, the dock is below sea level. A clever sequence of gates allow a ship to sail into the dock and the water to be drained out around it. This allows shipwrights easy access to the hull to make routine repairs and scrape off any aquatic life that might be damaging the vessel. Awkwardly balancing on a rickety step ladder, a Svefra child is rhythmically, if absent mindedly hammering brightly painted pins into the hull of a small, single sail ship. The pins are planted firmly near any cracks or damage to the well worn hull, presumably to help the proper shipwrights identify and address any potential issues during their routine maintenance. He pauses only to use his mallet to chip away at particularly stubborn molluscs and other hard-shelled interlopers. ...I wonder what I did to make mum so upset? I haven't taken so much as a bead from any of those blind foreigners wandering the flotila. I've stayed out of fights, haven't I? I didn't even interrupt when uncle Jal'El sat me down for my history lesson. The boy is convinced his current task must be some sort of punishment. Young Svefra are much more at home swimming alongside dolphins and whales on the open sea, nicking some curious bauble from the pocket of a careless stranger, or scrapping with their horde of brothers and sisters. Stuck in a dank hole chipping away at harmless crustaceans would be, for any active child, a form of cruel torture. Lost in thought, the child shifts forward on his ladder, stretching out to reach an ugly gash in the ships hull. As he cranes to plant his stake in the hull of the vessel he begins to curse under his breath, giggling softly at his own profanities. Chipping away at the hull, he hums a gentle tune to himself, trying his best to distract himself from the mindless drudgery of his busy work. "Look alive!" a shout rings out from the far side of the ship. The shout is urgent, and followed shortly by a loud groan and the sounds of straining rope. Unable to see the cause of the disturbance the child is suddenly filled with dread. His eyes grow wide as the sounds of fraying ropes grow louder, a cruel, strained opera. As he recoils from the din, his sudden movements shift his step stool into a pool of brine and it hurls the boy onto the wooden planks of the dock. A yelp of pain escapes pain shoots up his back from the harsh fall, his step stool landing roughly on the child's chest, knocking the wind from him. From his new vantage under the ship he can see the frantic rush of boots rushing for the ladders that line the edge of the dry dock. He can barely make out the sight of men racing up the ladders and out of the way of the tilting ship. "She's going to fall!" The boy recognizes the voice of his uncle, the shipwright Jal'El, over the roar of cursing craftsmen and snapping rope. "Get out of the dock you little fool!" The boy tries to push the ladder off his chest, cursing loudly as he tries to move out from under the obstruction. The pain of a dozen tiny daggers shoot up his arm as he tries to move his left shoulder. He whimpers gently as he looks at the awkward angle of his arm, clearly separated in the fall. "I'm trapped!" The sharp notes of the child's voice can just barely be heard over the din. He hears the roar of his uncle bellowing orders at his craftsmen before disaster strikes. With a deafening snap, two of the support ropes holding the ship's bow upright give way and the wooden hoists supporting the vessel let out a pained groan. From under the ship The child can only look on in terror as the ship's bow shudders and falls forward. The sudden shift of weight throws the boat forward, putting too much strain on the thick oak hoists the vessel was resting on. As the child struggles to push the ladder off his chest and flee to one of the ladders lining the dock, the main hoist lets out a final croak and splits, shooting large splinters across the dock. Several large chunks of wood spray off in the child's direction, stabbing into his chest and stomach. The child bites back a litany of frantic curses and instead squeaks out a brief prayer. "Laviku, all father, preserve me." As if on cue, the ship crashes forward, slamming hard into the wooden gate of the dry dock. The child desperately rolls out from under the ladder and out of the way of the falling ship. With a bang the vessel smashes clear through the hearty timbers that were holding back the sea, penetrating the dry dock. Immediately, the water folds itself through the crack in the dock door and blasts into the dock with a ferocious roar. A wall of salty foam crashes into the prone child, smashing him into the hull of the broken ship. The force of the water spins the child around like a ragdoll, his shoulder in agony as the force of the water pushes and pulls him in a chaotic, aquatic dance. The might of the sea is not easily tamed, and once it finds an opening it capitalizes with gusto. Within moments the dry dock is fully submerged and the figure of the child is nowhere to be seen. As the swirling eddy in the dock begins to grow calm, a hearty stream of bubbles can be seen floating to surface. Beneath the water, his left arm pinned awkwardly into the wreckage of the ship, Theo Coaststrider is trapped.

[Theo Coaststrider]

For a brief moment, everything is calm. In an instant, the tumbling chaos of the flood is is over and the world is a cold and watery darkness. Finally given a brief respite from the raging water and falling timber, Theo takes a moment to recover. While the prospect of being fully submerged and awkwardly pinned would be a death sentence for many, for a Svefra it puts his mind somewhat at ease. At least as long as he can hold his breath. The cool temperature of the water also serves to numb the throbbing ache of the child's badly damaged shoulder. Unable to see through the muddy mess that has suddenly flooded the "dry" dock Theo finds himself lost and disoriented. He takes a moment to tug hard on his left shoulder in an attempt to free it from whatever splintery prison he has managed to trap himself in. His attempts earn him nothing but anguish. Based on the crushing weight pushing down on him, he assumes that it must have gotten pinned under a fallen beam. While a Svefra, the favorites of Laviku, can hold their breathe considerably longer than the less waterlogged races of Mizahar his little lungs won't hold out for ever. He needs to find a way to escape, and soon. Okay... I can't panic. Mom always told me to never panic. Don't panic. The little boy begins to squirm gently, hoping to let his feet find the floor of the dry dock. In a few moments he is able to plant them onto something solid, beams of timber. But is it the floor? It might be the wall... The child was thrown around so roughly that it's nearly impossible to tell. Based on the angle of the pressure on his arm he guesses that it must be the floor of the dock, but if he's wrong he might find himself swimming into more trouble once he's freed himself. Looking to get some leverage to force his arm free he tucks his little legs up under his body and begins to push off the planks as hard as he can, hoping to wiggle his arm free. In spite of his best efforts, he is unable to lift the beam. Realizing that the weight of the hoists, and the ship, combined must be too great for him to lift himself the boy begins to panic. I'm going to drown! The child begins to flail wildly, badly jerking at the already damaged shoulder. His squirming and pushing uses up almost all of his oxygen. After a few brief seconds spent thrashing away at the hull, the boy is left with little more than burning lungs and the loud thump of his heart. As the light burn in his chest becomes an ache, the child comes to a rest and tries to focus on regaining control. His efforts work to slow down his heart rate and ease the vice-like pain of his lungs grasping for air. Laviku, preserve me. He uses the simple prayer to help calm himself. Repeating it as a mantra while he tries to change his angle and pull his arm free. He repeats the prayer as he begins to slowly feel his conciousness slipping away, the strength being robbed from his limbs and his focus slipping away as his mind begins to turn to thing his body needs most, oxygen. "Damn it! Help Me!" The boy lets out a muffled yell that his quickly stolen by water. In opening his mouth his body instinctively gulps down a foul mixture of mud, rotten maritime life and salt water and he begins to choke. His little body sputtering and shaking as he tries to force the water out of his lungs. It is during this last desperate act that he finally loses his fight for control and blacks out.

[Theo Coaststrider]

Above the relative calm of the water, absolute chaos has broken out. Jal'El Coaststrider, the left hand of the Coaststrider's Lia, is charging across the dock towards the spot where the child was last seen. On his way across the dock he throws one of the workers that had fled the accident to the ground. With a sudden and terrible ferocity he grabs one of the wooden mallets littering the floor of the workspace and clubs the next man he passes with the flat of the tool. Without waiting to hear the shocked whimpering of the man, he turns on his staff, pulling himself to his full height. "You shiftless, dirt sucking, motherless plagues on Laviku's creation are a cruel embarrassment to the Coaststrider pod. You weaseling cowards would watch a son of your own pod drown to protect your worthless hides!" Spinning on his heal he strips away his thick leather vest and begins to pull off his cotton shirt, and then his boots, at a desperate pace. As he strips himself, a large tattoo is revealed. In the shape of a great tidal wave crashing across his chest and sweeping down his chiselled arms. The ink is a rich blue and swirls and crashes, animated by magic. It is the mark of a devote follower of Laviku. "One of you rats had best go find the physician and have him waiting here by the time I surface. With all the God's as my witness if I come up holding a corpse I'll beat you all to death with my bare hands." Without wasting another word, the giant of a man hurls himself into the swirling murk of the now drowned dry-dock with the practised grace of a diver. Forcing his way through the muck and silt that had been kicked up from the sea floor as the water crashed into the dock, the man works his way as quickly as possible through the maze of the wreck. The force of the crashing boat, and the shattered remnants of the multiple hoists and pillars that were supporting the vessel mad fallen in a labyrinthine heap. Forced to see with his hands he feels his way through the maze with a remarkable speed. Guided by the magics of Laviku he strains to feel the vibrations of kicking feet, trying to sense the struggling child in the mess. He reaches the hull of the broken ship quickly and begins to swim quickly along the side, his fingers slipping gently along the side of the vessel, feeling for any sign of where the child might be trapped. As he kicks his way down the length of the hulking ship he becomes momentarily lost in his thoughts. The thought of having to tell the boy's mother, the Lia, is a terrible one. The loss of a child, particularly one that had been raised by the entire pod, would be devastating. The thought of performing the funeral rights, and returning a broken little body to the sea only served to increase the fear of the frantic man. With a loud thud, Jal'El crashes unceremoniously into a particularly thick hunk of wreckage. Feeling along the near side of the damage he is unable to find a crack or gap large enough to fit through. The boy must have gotten himself trapped in this pocket of the wreck. Theo was too powerful a swimmer to have simply gotten lost or panicked and the weight of the fallen hoist, and ruined hull would have been too great for the boy to move on his own. Certain that he had found the trapped child, Jal'El springs into action. Feeling around for a tool, Jal'El quickly grasps a small oak beam and forces it into a gap in the wreck. He angles the plank, struggling for a moment to find leverage. When he is finally able to shift his way into a good position he forces his weight down quickly. His powerful body causing the ruined hull to splinter and shatter, opening a gap in the hull. Without hesitation he throws himself into the gap.

[Theo Coaststrider]

Theo had traded one darkness for another. With a sudden gasp, he snaps awake and takes a deep breathe of air. The screaming ache in his lungs and head that had dominated his final moments, a single minded panic for air, had completely disappeared. The boy took a few moments to steal deep, greedy breathes. Once the child is satisfied that, this time, he will not be robbed of his access to oxygen he attempts to take stock of his situation. His entire universe is an empty blackness, the silence is stiffening. The boy feels suspended, as if he is swimming, but he can't hear any of the familiar sounds of the bubbling deep, or the pressure of the water. He takes a moment to kick his way through the darkness, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm his nerves. Is this what it's like to be dead? The thought of death terrifies the child. When he is reborn would the Gods take him away from the Svefra? Would he be forced to grow up a servant in a smoky city, trampled under heal by some iron-booted knights? Or even worse, would he be reborn to one of the races of sand people, hundreds of miles from the sea, forced to spend an entire life in the scorching sun with no water. Would he be robbed of the structure of the pods, the companionship of the tavan and the blessings of Laviku? A thousand lives flashed before the eyes of the child, none of them his, and he began to panic thrashing at the nothingness that surrounded him. This isn't fair! I'm a Svefra, the water is my home! I can't die here and I won't die here. I have a family! I have friends! Amidst his spinning and thrashing he devises a foolish plan, the sort of plot that only a spiteful child would devise. Perhaps if he cursed those ugly gods they would not want him? Maybe, if he offended them enough they would give him back to Laviku and his family! He focuses hard, trying to remember the names and characteristics of the vast array of Gods and Goddesses. His lessons seem so far away, as if occurring in a distant dream. Lhex, you're wrinkly a fool. I bet in all of your scheming and wheedling you don't even notice a soul like me. Well I notice you! You're a fat old fool, and if you steal me from my home I'll taunt you through all my days. The little boy shouts his defiance into the blankness, his fury only building as he hits a stride. Amidst the rage he can feel a slight twinge of embarrassment, a knowledge that what he's doing is petulant, and maybe even dangerous, but this might be his only chance. I'll curse your temples and smash your altars and...and...and...bite your servants! I'll be like a swamp fly and bite and pick and buzz until I make you crazy! As he finishes his rant he clearly loses steam. Still floating in the blankness it is clear that his little performance was not the answer. The Gods have no use, and most of all no respect, for a whining, panicky child. Thinking back he tries to remember his lessons for some nugget of wisdom that might help him figure out where, or what, he is. With a loud sigh he curls himself into a ball and lets himself drift. All of the anger gone, he rubs his own shoulders and takes long breathes, deep in his diaphragm to calm himself. Laviku, can you hear me. If I'm dead, please take good care of my family. My cousins can be lazy, and my mum is a grouch and my father Jal'El has a terrible temper but they'll still need you to take care of them. I know that when they make an offering they don't sprinkle it with salt, like they should, but they still try to honour you in their own way. If I'm not dead, will you send me home? I don't like it here. I can't hear the waves and everything is too still. If you let me leave, I promise I'll honour you. I'll learn my lessons, and give you back your best fish, and destroy your enemies and make your people rich. Please. As he finishes his juvenile prayer the little boy squeezes his eyes as tight as he can and repeats his offering, over and over, hoping that Laviku can hear him.