Vhalar 54, 717, Early Morning
The early Vhalar weather had continued to be pleasant, with temperatures steadily dropping, especially at night and in the early mornings. Since their difficult return from Desnind, Pash had made the decision to begin preparing to leave Scalvoris sooner rather than later, the urgency of the journey feeling heavier than it once had in Saun. While Pash had sailed alone and often did so more or less by the seat of his pants, casually concerned for his own well being, this time, he was setting out with companions. All of them needed to survive, not just simply get by along the way, considering the travels that lay ahead.
This realization had led the tall Biqaj to come up with small-scale gardening plans on his little sloop, having finished building some planter boxes just a few trials before and beginning the carpentry work for turning the roof of his cabin, the raised area above deck, into a very humble greenhouse of sorts, a patch of dirt underneath laid flat window panes on hinges to grow lettuces and herbs and such until Cylus brought its sunless trials. He also had plans to build some better storage for food inside the cabin itself, probably under the floorboards in the living area, using green sand and a snow crystal, though he’d yet to go gather the sand. The list in his mind was long and as the days grew shorter toward Zi’da, Pash was content to keep himself as busy as possible in the preparations lest he get caught up in the tangled emotions of sorrow and loss over all that had transpired so far in the season. There was too much to do that required forward motion to get tripped up by looking backwards over his shoulder at all that was left behind.
The final part of his plans included actually taking some time to fish, to teach himself a skill he’d only played at in his youth and when hungry. Properly. Not just out of desperation and need, but in a way that allowed him to not only feed himself but Kali’rial and Sarkis as well. So while his lover slipped away just as early to hunt, the seafaring musician made his way to the beach, the domain bag over his shoulder containing his fisherman’s kit that appeared to have quite a variety of fishing options, from pole to net.
He spent a bit of time lingering on the docks in the chill, watching his breath and steam curl off the salty wood as he asked some locals their advice and directions, giving his woefully broken Scalveen a try in order to make a good impression, to get a few smiles, all while finding some of the similarities between Rakahi and the Island’s native tongue curious. The historical connections in the roots of some of the words made him realize more than a few of his people had become pirates over the arcs.
Some deckhands who spent their spare time fishing off their ships or along the beach let him know the kind of bait they used for pole fishing from the shore, admitting that some decent-sized fish could be caught if one used sand fleas dug up from under the sand as the waves washed away or if he had the coin to spare to pick up a few sardines or some tiny fresh squid from the fishmongers’ children who plied their little prizes near the docks for a handful of copper nels.
A handful of elderly men who fished from the salt-crusted wood every day weren’t immediately forthcoming with any favored locations, not wanting to give away their age-earned secrets, but eagerly passed onto the tall Biqaj far too many tips for him to remember, some of which sounded suspiciously like superstitions: always use a red lure at sunrise and never fish with your back facing the rising moons. The rest of their advice seemed sound enough, however, as they gave him a few tips on how deep to wade to use his small casting net and showed him how to toss it so it opened best in the surf. They also let him know that using a pole from shore was possible, but if he could find a rocky outcropping, that was a better option.
They weren’t about to share which rocky outcroppings they liked, however, and so Pash was left to himself. He found a few children at the end of the docks, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the slowly warming Vhalar dawn, both with buckets of their parents’ smallest catches: sardines, little fingerlings, tiny squid. The tall Biqaj was more than happy to gain their smiles and giggles with a handful of copper nels, making a show of emptying his pockets and pretending that was all he had, for a fist-sized waterproof bag of mixed creatures in a bit of seawater. He even hummed them a tune with a wink, lingering for their laughter before waving goodbye.
He wandered up the beach with his bare feet on the warm sand, thankful that of all the quirks of Scalvoris, the ever-warm sand made Vhalar’s coming chill that much less uncomfortable.
Lagoon blue eyes swept the shore, aware of a few rocky outcroppings jutting out into the chilled waters of the harbor, though he knew the walk was a bit of a hike. Missing the familiar weight of his grandfather’s mother of pearl-inlaid lute in his hands, Pash sang as he walked instead, baritone words in Rakahi in the morning chill hardly charming the sea birds who were searching for breakfast so much as keeping his thoughts on happier, better things.
This realization had led the tall Biqaj to come up with small-scale gardening plans on his little sloop, having finished building some planter boxes just a few trials before and beginning the carpentry work for turning the roof of his cabin, the raised area above deck, into a very humble greenhouse of sorts, a patch of dirt underneath laid flat window panes on hinges to grow lettuces and herbs and such until Cylus brought its sunless trials. He also had plans to build some better storage for food inside the cabin itself, probably under the floorboards in the living area, using green sand and a snow crystal, though he’d yet to go gather the sand. The list in his mind was long and as the days grew shorter toward Zi’da, Pash was content to keep himself as busy as possible in the preparations lest he get caught up in the tangled emotions of sorrow and loss over all that had transpired so far in the season. There was too much to do that required forward motion to get tripped up by looking backwards over his shoulder at all that was left behind.
The final part of his plans included actually taking some time to fish, to teach himself a skill he’d only played at in his youth and when hungry. Properly. Not just out of desperation and need, but in a way that allowed him to not only feed himself but Kali’rial and Sarkis as well. So while his lover slipped away just as early to hunt, the seafaring musician made his way to the beach, the domain bag over his shoulder containing his fisherman’s kit that appeared to have quite a variety of fishing options, from pole to net.
He spent a bit of time lingering on the docks in the chill, watching his breath and steam curl off the salty wood as he asked some locals their advice and directions, giving his woefully broken Scalveen a try in order to make a good impression, to get a few smiles, all while finding some of the similarities between Rakahi and the Island’s native tongue curious. The historical connections in the roots of some of the words made him realize more than a few of his people had become pirates over the arcs.
Some deckhands who spent their spare time fishing off their ships or along the beach let him know the kind of bait they used for pole fishing from the shore, admitting that some decent-sized fish could be caught if one used sand fleas dug up from under the sand as the waves washed away or if he had the coin to spare to pick up a few sardines or some tiny fresh squid from the fishmongers’ children who plied their little prizes near the docks for a handful of copper nels.
A handful of elderly men who fished from the salt-crusted wood every day weren’t immediately forthcoming with any favored locations, not wanting to give away their age-earned secrets, but eagerly passed onto the tall Biqaj far too many tips for him to remember, some of which sounded suspiciously like superstitions: always use a red lure at sunrise and never fish with your back facing the rising moons. The rest of their advice seemed sound enough, however, as they gave him a few tips on how deep to wade to use his small casting net and showed him how to toss it so it opened best in the surf. They also let him know that using a pole from shore was possible, but if he could find a rocky outcropping, that was a better option.
They weren’t about to share which rocky outcroppings they liked, however, and so Pash was left to himself. He found a few children at the end of the docks, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the slowly warming Vhalar dawn, both with buckets of their parents’ smallest catches: sardines, little fingerlings, tiny squid. The tall Biqaj was more than happy to gain their smiles and giggles with a handful of copper nels, making a show of emptying his pockets and pretending that was all he had, for a fist-sized waterproof bag of mixed creatures in a bit of seawater. He even hummed them a tune with a wink, lingering for their laughter before waving goodbye.
He wandered up the beach with his bare feet on the warm sand, thankful that of all the quirks of Scalvoris, the ever-warm sand made Vhalar’s coming chill that much less uncomfortable.
Lagoon blue eyes swept the shore, aware of a few rocky outcroppings jutting out into the chilled waters of the harbor, though he knew the walk was a bit of a hike. Missing the familiar weight of his grandfather’s mother of pearl-inlaid lute in his hands, Pash sang as he walked instead, baritone words in Rakahi in the morning chill hardly charming the sea birds who were searching for breakfast so much as keeping his thoughts on happier, better things.
Ledger
-8cn for a bag of bait and some giggles
