Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

The sun sparkled on the deep green of the sea, the waves gentle giants this far from land, a bit of white foam for a cap sometimes, other times just a smooth roll of brined water. There were but a few perfect clouds to float lazily through the boundless sky, for the wind was strong and pushed them along even as it filled the sails of The Muse just right so that the small sea-faring vessel cut a sharp wake through the water. The horizon was clear in all directions, and everything looked as though it had no end, this far out into the Orm’del and far from anything that looked like land at all.

With a good beam reach, the orange-hulled sloop was traveling swiftly, racing the shadows of clouds and bumping over waves. No birds, no rocks, no other ships, no nothing, the small vessel must have been two ten-trials or more from any shore of Idalos. Perhaps, if the day was indeed so perfect, dolphins might come and play or a whale might come up for a breath. For the moment, however, all sea life seemed content to stay hidden from view lest they interrupt the perfect marine landscape that stretched as far as lagoon blue eyes could see.

It was nearly achingly beyond perfect, really, serene and quiet; a sailor’s dream of the most ideal day at sea.

Almost lonely and yet not.

Pash found himself alone, leaning against his tiller in the stern of his deck, sun-kissed hair whipping in the wind and tugging at his unbuttoned vest. The air on the tanned, inked skin of his arms was neither cool nor hot—wasn’t it Saun? or was it Ashan? or even Vhalar? He curled bare feet into the warm, well-cared for wood of his deck, squinting at the curve of the horizon while one calloused hand reached up to brush stray strands of hair from his unshaven face.

Where was he going?

Did it matter?

He couldn't remember and yet he felt strongly that this was the right way, wherever he was.

For a few more, contemplative moments, the seafaring minstrel simply was, nearly thoughtless, one with the tension of his tiller, the strong wind, and the bobbing of the waves he cut through so cleanly.

Truly perfect.

There was a splash. And then another. Soft sounds of water displaced by hydrodynamic bodies of pure oceanic delight. Looking over his well-muscled shoulder, there indeed in his wake were a handsome handful of common dolphin, racing and weaving, jumping and playing in the wake of The Muse. Dolphins were lucky, beautiful, and fun to watch, and Pash shifted his stance at the tiller for a better view. These seemed able to leap higher, hang in the air, dripping and marvelous, longer than he remembered possible. Their dark, curious eyes obviously watching Pash as he stood there and watched them back, mysterious in their marine intelligence,

“Ahoy there. Thank you for visiting!” The tall Biqaj couldn't help but speak to them out loud in his gratitude.

He could have sworn one of them said, “You're welcome.”

And another may have peeped, “Don’t mention it.”

And a third, “Anytime, mate.”

Was he really alone? Was anyone belowdecks? Where was Kali? Someone else should be feeling this perfection, should be living this Biqaj dream of all dreams.

“Stay there, eh? I've got someone here who needs to be enjoying this more than me.”

Pash set the tiller in its brake to keep it steady, the cradle-like contraption an invention he and his father had worked arcs ago at solving. It had never been perfected, not yet, but it worked none the less, giving him the freedom to walk away from steering to make adjustments to the rigging or peek down belowdecks without the sloop veering horribly off course or lilting too far out of the water. Padding barefoot over his warm wooden deck and feeling the sea spray on his skin, the seafaring minstrel ran calloused fingers along the rigging as he came around on the starboard side to the hatch that led to his cabin and belowdecks. Ellis, his little friendly lemon tree, was strapped in his comfy pot to the port side of the hatch, soaking up the perfect sun and waving in the wind.

Lifting the hatch, Pash leaned over it but didn't head down the three stairs, only because of the swift pace at which he was sailing,

“Oi! There's some dolphins out here. And it’s amazing. Best sailing in arcs, I’d say. Come up and get some sun.”

The voice that lilted on his deck wasn’t Kali’s, and when he turned, the seafaring minstrel was not at all expecting to see Delta. He especially didn’t expect her to be standing in water, the wash of it trickling up the stairs from his cabin—instead of down—and spilling across the warm wood of his deck as if the tide followed the woman instead of the moon, washing over the sides and back into the sea. At least the sloop wasn’t sinking.

“Really?” There were dolphins belowdecks? He hoped they were comfortable, “That would be a first. I don’t think I have any fish ready.”

Pash laughed instead of rushing to investigate, as if the idea of sea mammals as passengers was an acceptable occurrence. Instead, he rolled his broad, tanned shoulders and turned to swing out the boom with a shove of one hand, the other grasping the mainsail line for control. The whole sloop tilted, catching more wind in the broad reach of the sail, and then the ship leapt like a breaching whale, skimming the calm, blue surface of the sea as it picked up speed.

The rush felt lovely—a familiar little lurch in the pit of his stomach at the sudden motion—and the tall Biqaj grinned, looking back to Delta, his enthusiasm far from dampened by her lack of the same. If anything, it grew almost tangible as the boat moved faster, as if his feelings and the sensation were currently connected in some unexplainable way.

For a moment, he felt as though he had something to say, something he should be saying, something he should have already said, but strangely enough for the often far too talkative salty bard, he couldn’t bring it to mind. It didn’t seem to weigh him down, however, nor did he care that his sailing companion was not who he expected. Maybe he should be wondering where Kali was, but as water flowed around his ankles and the sails flapped in the wind, everything seemed just fine.

“You should steer.” He advised almost sagely, lagoon blue gaze washing past her to indicate the tiller, Rakahi feeling so much more comfortable off his tongue in the warm sunlight far out at sea, “You know where we’re going better than I do.”

At least to Pash she looked like she did, her somewhat distant expression harder for him to read than he wanted it to be. It was an odd thing to say—this was his vessel and he felt as though he should know where they were going, but he just didn’t care, far too enthused by the very fine sailing to have a necessary destination. The thrill of the ride too compelling to worry.

“There’s such perfect wind. We should have a little fun with it.” He grinned almost coyly, an invitation that would under any other circumstance have bordered on an innuendo, waving his hands to shoo her in the direction of the tiller, still sitting in the cradle to keep the ship’s course straight. She’d just have to lift it and lean to steer, though the learning curve was you leaned left to go right and right to go left. The waves picked up as if on queue, adding a heavier rocking motion as the fast-moving sloop bobbed over them.