Solo The Night Is Dark

[Jabran]

Timestamp: 1st of Summer 513 AV

As young children sleep in their beds and dream of what is and what should never be and the Chaktawe of the desert huddle together to escape the bitter coldness of the night, the ships on the Suvan Sea roll ever on. They roll over waves of calm and of rough with no respite, never changing. When the sun goes down and the shutters close on another day, life remains as it always has. The ship still needs to be steered, the ropes need to be checked and rechecked and the wind and sea need to be battled. It is a life as harsh and difficult as any other, with those who follow it having salt in their veins and their faces weathered by the sea.

***

Jabran was always tossing and turning in his bed. He realised that in order to sleep soundly at night he needed something solid below him. He didn't know if he could ever get used to the sea and hoped that he would never have to. He opened his eyes yet again after another failed attempt at slumber. He sat up and looked at the black marks on his fingers. They felt nothing. His head moved towards Ashara's bed, his guide and mentor as his father had put it. It was empty and messy. He knew where she was but chose not to think about it. She may have been of his race and of his tribe, his kin, but he couldn't bring himself to like her, let alone respect her.

For the most part, life aboard a ship for Jabran was boring. He had little to do but sit and think. He couldn't help as he had no knowledge of ships or sea navigation. When he practised with his spear the crew claimed that he was getting in the way and he was forced to stop. The only break in the rolling monotony was when Ashara decided that she would teach him some useful skills or some of the Common Tongue. She was a poor teacher who tried her best. The language lessons were unstructured. She would point to the sea and say "sea" in common. "Repeat after me" was her favourite saying, and Jabran would say "sea". She would smile a smile of naive joy.
"I see the sea".
"I see the sea".
"You see, the words sound the same but have very different meanings", she would explain poorly. "Remember; subject, verb, object".
"Subject, verb, object", Jabran would repeat obediantly and Ashara would smile.
She would point back to the water.
"The sea".
"The sea".
She would point higher.
"The sky".
"The sky".
She would point to Jabran, the wide smile on her face betraying how pleased she was with herself.
"The person".
"The person".
During one of these point and say sessions a few of the crew were walking past. One of them pointed at Ashara and said something in common, his tone mocking the simple way that she spoke when teaching Jabran as if he was patronising a child. Whatever he said the rest of the men laughed. Jabran watched Ashara's face turn sullen. She would tell him what the man said whether he wanted to or not. After a few chimes Ashara looked at him. "The stupid whore", she moaned. "That's what he called me". She was on the verge of tears. "It's not true, is it?"

Jabran's eyes gave nothing away, though he knew it was true. He got up and walked away without saying anything, ashamed that she bore the name Chaktawe.

[Jabran]

The night is dark and in the bowels of a ship it is darker still. There is no candle to cast shadows upon the walls and there is no window to let the moon's eerie glow resonate within. In truth there was a candle in the room that was given to Jabran and Ashara. It was burned down to the nub and useless. As the last vestiges of the light it gave flickered into nothingness Jabran memorised the elongated shadows and sillhouettes as if his sight was about to leave him for good. The light shifted and moved for just a moment, and was gone. Jabran lay back down on his bed and closed his eyes. In his mind he saw Chulyein, his horse and best friend, galloping north across the desert of Eyktol in search of his master; his father returning from a successful hunt, his hair greying and his shoulders swaying, the fragility of life etched across his face in lines and scars; a woman he once knew, or at least a hint of her, one who did not need to eat or drink in the harsh desert sun, whose eyes let nothing in and nothing out, who had a beacon of hope in the form of a vortex glowing on her arm. Nuit, mage, Sahova, Jilitse; the words echoed in his unconscious and for a moment he thought he could see in the darkness, not with his eyes, but with a light that came from within him, infused with the soul of something greater than himself. What he thought he glimpsed was not the physical items in the ship but something more, something eternal and infinite, rising from a realm beyond his ken.

The memories went through his very being and a tear came to his eye as he finally felt the sweet embrace of sleep.

***

A bang on the door woke him. There was another, and another. His eyes shot open as the noise from outside entered his solitude. Before he knew what was happening he was being held down by one man as another tied his hands behind his back. He looked up and saw Ashara and a human that Jabran recognised from the kitchens, neither had any clothes on and the young man's manhood betrayed their sinful union. They had been discovered in the act it seemed and they were both disheveled and beaten. Whether the invaders had done that or they did it to themselves in their passion, Jabran couldn't know. Jabran eyed the youth. He had barely seen twenty summers and now he was crying like a little whipped pup. His eyes moved to Ashara. The night before it had been a member of the crew and tonight a cook. She had clearly taken her role as the only woman aboard the ship seriously.

Jabran glimpsed the men who had taken him captive as he was hauled naked into the middle of the floor. "Humans", he guessed. He was getting sick of these savages. They seemed to be everywhere he looked these days. There were four prisoners in total in this small room, all arranged in a circle. Ashara sat beside Jabran and she tried to catch his eye but he refused to look at her. She had brought shame to her race. He tried to feel the knots that bound his hands together. They fastened his wrists tight, strong and well tied. He could touch the rope with his fingers but that was it. To attempt escape would be futile but he tried anyway by wriggling his hands out, getting a short and sharp burning sensation for his troubles. After that failed he tried to pull the rope apart by force which also failed.

One of the humans had clearly taken charge of the situation. He wore his dark hair long and braided. He wore layers of colourful clothing and could easily be taken for a Svefra if not for his dark brown eyes. He shouted orders and the others obeyed, a smug look upon his face. This one liked being in charge, liked people listening to him. He was young and over confident. I was clear that he had spent time with the seafarers and saw himself as one. Jabran would need to keep his eyes peeled for the man would slip up soon. He was too arrogant by far not to. All Jabran had to do was bide his time and he would escape. Then he could wipe that smug smile away with fire and blood.

[Jabran]

The cabin had become quite crowded with four people in the centre of it, sat on the floor and tied together, all with their hands tied behind their backs, and three guards to stand watch over them. Jabran was still stubbornly trying to free himself from the ropes that held him by force when he felt a nudge from his right hand side. The man beside him was trying to hand him something. In his hand was placed a small, rectangular metal object. The cold steel felt rough against his skin. He wondered what it was and turned his head towards that man who had given it to him. Half the man's face had soapy water dripping from it, his rough whiskers clearly visible, while the other half was clean shaven. Jabran blessed his ingenuity realising that he held a razor blade and praised Eywaat for placing him here. The man had been set upon while shaving and had held onto the device. With a little effort Jabran managed to sever the ropes that held him. He looked back to the man who now held a dagger behind his back. Jabran looked to where his spear lay. It was too close to the guards. It would not be possible to retrieve it without having to fight at least one of them, if not all three.

He had no time to think of a plan, however. Jabran's accomplice jumped to his feet and screamed. Drawing his dagger he ran towards the guards. Jabran quickly followed, his roar low and earthy. The guards were taken by surprise and, capitalising on their confusion, the man with the half shaved face, Twoface as Jabran had christined him, lodged his dagger in the stomach of the nearest foe. Jabran joined the fray seconds later by throwing a right fist at a second man. He had placed the sharp end of the razor between his index and middle fingers of his right hand and the blade connected with the side of the man's face, slicing off part of his ear as he screamed in pain. Jabran cursed his bad timing. He had aimed for the man's eyes but he had moved at the last second. Still, the delay meant that he could grab his spear as Twoface squared off against the third and final man.

As soon as Jabran grabbed his spear, he turned to face the man whose ear now lay motionless on the floor in a pile of blood. Even with the ear the man would have been ugly. His hair was black, long, unwashed and falling out; thin clumps falling from his scalp to his shoulder. His eyes were too far apart, his nose was too big and he had a large scar running down the left side of his face, no doubt from an earlier skirmish. He wielded a small, plain dagger though he was in no fit state to fight. He made a few attempts to slash at Jabran's midriff but these were easily blocked by the Chaktawe. In response Jabran hit the man with the butt of his spear which created an opening and he plunged the point of his spear into the man's body. However, the damage had been done before the fight. He had lost too much blood from his original wound to put up any fight at all.

As Jabran dispatched his foe, Twoface had done likewise with his. Although, not only had he killed his man, he had opened him up so the man was still alive for a second as he watched his guts spill on the floor. Jabran met Twoface's sadistic smile with eyes as cold as steel and unmovable as a mountain. Turning away from each other Twoface released the others from the bonds that held them and Jabran put on his loincloth. Fighting naked was a strange sensation.

Ashara looked small and scared. A lost little girl in a world that was simply too big for her. It seemed her inner self had finally revealed itself. The facade she had so carefully constructed was wavering. The cook was crying. For a moment Jabran felt pity for the man but the nature of his tears betrayed his weakness. He had no time for creatures such as these.

Twoface was waiting for him at the door, dagger in one hand and a short sword looted from one of the dead men in the other. Jabran reached down and took the dagger off the man that he had killed. He carefully wiped the blood off of it and sheathed it in his loincloth. He looked Twoface in the eye. These men had little in common. Not race, language, culture or anything else. However, as they stared into each others eyes they knew what had to be done, and so together they ran out of the cabin in search of blood.

[Jabran]

The below decks of the ship was deserted. They appeared to be the only people kept down there. Twoface and Jabran walked along the corridors as quietly as they could, the human taking the lead. Jabran dragged the soles of his feet along the wooden floor, the leathery pads making little sound. He was all too aware of the dagger tucked into his loincloth. The steel felt uncomfortably cold against his skin but he left it alone. He may need it soon. He couldn't know who or what was around the next corner.

They scouted the whole ship as quickly as they could before they decided to go onto the deck. Twoface opened the door slowly, an inch at a time, so as not to alert anyone to their presence. However, as soon as they could feel the cool wind on their faces, they could hear the clash of steel on steel. The night was cold and Jabran shivered as he greeted the full moon which lit everything in an eerie glow. The ship was covered in humans murdering humans. There were cutlasses and sabres. Short swords, long swords, broad swords. Battle axes and warhammers. There was even a man in the crow's nest loosing arrows, picking off his foes. As Jabran surveyed the battlefield he realised that he couldn't tell one human from any other. They all looked the same to him, friend and foe. He stuck to Twoface's side. This man would know his friends.

The first man that Jabran faced was young. If you looked closely you might be able to glimpse the innocence slowly fading from his eyes. He had most likely been born and bred on the waves, drinking salt flavoured milk from the day he was born and possibly pirating since he could walk. Young as he was, he was quite adept with a blade. As Jabran struck with either end of his spear the youth was equal to it, parrying the blows away with apparent ease. The boys own attacks were fierce. It was all Jabran could do to block them or jump out of the way. One would slash and poke with his sword, the other would use the body of his spear to parry or, rather clumsily, try to jump clear. The youth kept pushing Jabran back and back until he was nearly over the sea. With one deft move the boy managed to disarm Jabran, using his shoulder to knock the Chaktawe up against the side of the ship and disable one of his arms. It was then elementary to knock the spear from his grasp. With the next move the boy meant to kill. He raised his sword above his head and with all his weight brought it down to meet Jabran's skull. However, his sword got stuck in the side of the ship as Jabran dived out of the way. The boy had used so much force that he was unable to free the sword. Jabran used this second to take the dagger from his loincloth and stab the boy in his side. As the boy died Jabran realised if it wasn't for a certain light in his eyes, the boy would seem a man grown.

As the light faded, Jabran noticed new things about the creature before him. He had no lines or scars and skin that had never known a beard, there were even a few pimples on his face. A great sadness and pity came over the young Chaktawe. "This is not my fight", he realised. "This boy's life was not mine to take. Eywaat guide you on your journey and Makutsi bring you fresh water whene'er you need it." He slit the boy's throat to cease his suffering and looked at the carnage around him. "This is not my fight."

[Jabran]

He sat in meditation as the battle raged around him. It was over quickly, a slaughter more than a battle. The men who attacked were much fewer in number than those that were on the ship, the element of surprise hadn't worked the way that they had planned. Jabran saw the Svefra-Human he had seen earlier. His rage was gone, left was only a mixture of pity and disdain. Jabran looked at the needless bloodshed and sighed a deep sigh. He didn't understand why these men had fought each other. They seemed to have died because they coveted possessions. They were willing to kill and die for silver and gold. In the desert Jabran had fought over food and water. He would kill an animal for it's meat or, in the direst of circumstances, a Benshiran for the water he guarded but he never sought out violence as a means to an end. The Chaktawe would always looked the talk first, to come to an agreement. Violence was a worst case scenario.

When they did fight they did not enjoy it. Jabran took no joy in taking a life, be it beast or man. He did it because he had to. In the deserts of Eyktol it was eat or be eaten, survival of the fittest. When blood was shed, prayers were said. Prayers to Eywaat and Makutsi, to Yahal if Benshira blood was spilt and Dira if it was Eypharian blood.

He looked at the men's faces, the joy in their smiles. The happiness and pride was clear to see. Proud they were that they had repelled the attack of the evil invaders. Jabran felt nothing but disgust. It was an ugly taste at the tip of his tongue that wouldn't go, it was an uninvited and unwelcome guest in his house, it was to be endured but could not be overpowered. The captain of the ship was giving a rousing speech. By the cheers that went up from the crew it seemed to be a good one. Presumably the men's valour was being mentioned, their bravery and courage in even the most dangerous of situations. It made Jabran sick.

He suddenly felt a longing, a need to return to the life that he knew, to see the ones that he loved and cared for. He wished to feel the sand on his feet and the sun on his back. The longing was deep and sorrowful and came from within. He faced the way they had come and tried to see something, anything, familiar. But he was going the other away from what he knew and into the unknown. There was nothing he could do so he simply sat and thought until the morning sun broke the horizon with the promise of another day.

[Ensnare]

Jabran Skill XP Gained Observation 4 Escape Artist 2 Brawling 1 Spear 2 Stealth 1 Acrobatics 1 Dagger 1 Lore Gained Common Lesson: Subject, Verb, Object Opinion: Humans are Savages Using a Razor Blade To Cut Ones Binding Survival of the Fittest Repelling Ship Invaders Items/Consequences: +1 Steel Dagger If you feel I have graded you unfairly, or if you have any questions, please send me a PM and we'll work the problem out. Notes : As I was reading this, I thouroughly enjoyed the detail you put into the fighting as well as how Jabran percieved his surroundings!