06-29-2016, 07:19 PM
Waves reflect the passings of life. The swelling momentum carrying the hapless wanderer hither and yonder on flights of nameless fancy. Only to be crashed upon unknown shores with resounding and unequivocal finality.
The Sage raced across the ocean with a renewed sense of progress. For the first time in the short while he had found himself in this uncanny world, he was achieving a goal, rather than simply reacting to whatever new bizarrity the Verse felt compelled to saddle him with next. He checked the crude map he had been given by the old Bloodlance, Issac Carter. Checking the sun to reorient himself, he eased off the motor. The speedboat he had been given by Noodle slowed down and began to rock as the waves reasserted their dominance over the motion of the craft. Carter had explained that the concept of North was now more-or-less invented, since compasses and the like did not have much use. Still, direction could be established by convention alone, and so the Sun and stars marked the way for any naval exploration.
He had drifted slightly farther west than he wanted, the Sage decided after a moment. He was hugging close to islands, hoping from shoreline to shoreline in short stretches. Noodle had explained how the boat was not built to handle any sorts of extreme conditions, and the Sage was unfamiliar with the vehicle enough that he would be helpless to repair it should it become damaged.
He was calling in a lot of favors he hadn’t earned yet, he mused. Dasha had explained numerous of the Omniverse’s oddities to him, as well as sheltering him from the Imperial forces of Costa del Sol. Noodle had helped immensely in the recovery of his bullet wound, which seemed to be on the mend with altogether surprising speed, and had summoned this much more manageable vehicle for his trip. Issac Carter had taught him the islands and routes of the Vasty Deep, without which he would not have his present course.
One day he would need to repay all these debts. But first he would need to gain a position where he had something to offer in return. A creditor could be stretched with the right tongue, but eventually he would need something to show for his efforts.
After realigning his course, he set off again, bearing towards Blue Flame Island with all speed. Carter was right, he would not be able to pilot this craft through either a blockade or a smugglers’ route. He needed a professional, and Bilgewater was famous (infamous?) for having the best according to Carter. He was only about a day’s journey away at this point, and the weather had proved far more cooperative than he had previously encountered. It seemed likely that he would arrive at Blue Flame Island without issue.
Or not… he thought, as the speedboat refused to re-start. He couldn’t fathom what could be wrong with the machine, but then, he hadn’t learned how it worked beyond simply the piloting mechanisms, so attempting to repair the device would be next to impossible. The Sage smacked his dueling cane on the bow of the speedboat in frustration. Nothing would ever go swiftly anymore. This world seemed determined to throw obstacles into his path at every turn. Like an amused child placing rocks before a burdened ant. He thought bitterly, again the grinning face flashed in his memory. Precisely that.
After a moment’s deliberation, he began to summon an oar. Abandoning the boat would be a rash decision, perhaps it simply needed a rest, then it would start working again. It reminded him vaguely of the steam-powered devices some of the more eccentric scholars had been experimenting with back home. Perhaps the machine had simply gotten clogged by something?
Newly-fashioned oar in hand, the Sage attempted to paddle his way towards the nearest island. It was small, a clump of trees, boasting one of the thinnest stretches of beach that the Sage had seen. He hoped he wouldn’t have to spend very long there. The Speedboat beached, and the Sage hopped off into the surf. His nose wrinkled as the ocean waves rushed in to fill his boots, but began dragging the boat further ashore to make sure it didn’t get carried off. The boat was heavier than he would have guessed, and after a few feet, he could neither drag the boat further ashore, nor push it back into the deeper water. He would have to wait for the tides to rise, that would be annoying.
Boots squelching, the Sage made his way onto the island, deciding to give it a cursory glance before examining the boat. He didn’t want any unnecessary surprises, and deserted islands were notorious for not actually being deserted. This one seemed to actually live up to his namesake however, as nothing stirred in the copse of palm trees but a few errant birds resting their wings before continuing on their journey. The Sage looked up at them from the shade of the copse. You have no idea how good you have it, my winged friends. You have no need of beast, boat or road to get you to your destination, simply an open and inviting sky. Turning his attention back to his search, the Sage traversed the rest of the island. Satisfied that this place was indeed uninhabited, the Sage returned to the shore where he had first arrived, only to find his boat was being inspected by two figures of a very aquatic persuasion.
The Sage dropped down to a crouch, watching from the underbrush of the island, as the two silver-scaled fish-men examined his boat. He had been gone all of what, fifteen minutes exploring the island, and his vessel had already been found by potentially dangerous individuals. The smaller of the two beings looked relatively unthreatening, but the larger one had a well-made spear that seemed to have been fashioned out of some sort of coral. The Sage cursed as the smaller fish-man pointed to his tracks, heading up the beach and into the copse of the island’s center. The Taller fish-man turned to look, his dorsal tail-head flapping behind him. They conversed briefly but the Sage was too far away to make out their words. The larger of the two fish-man began making his way up the beach, following the tracks the Sage had made moments before, while the smaller one continued to explore the ship, now climbing into the cockpit to examine the controls.
The Sage waited, watching as the larger fish-man passed into the copse of brush and palm trees. Without knowing anything about these strange creatures, his best option was to wait, they might be dangerous, but they seemed curious and relaxed enough that he didn’t want to simply attack them without provocation. Instead he watched as the smaller fish-man poked around the speedboat, trying levers and buttons without response. The Sage couldn’t really mock the fish-man that much for it, however, as he himself hadn’t known what purpose the buttons served. The smaller fish-man coiled back in surprise when his experiments resulted in two black bars waving across the small window in the front of the boat. The creature certainly didn’t seem malicious or calculating enough to pose too large a threat to his own safety, although it was quite clear that the fish-headed being would be useless in terms of helping his problem with the boat.
The Sage almost made to leave his hiding place and approach, when he heard the faintest crunching of leaves from behind him. Turning his head almost imperceptibly to the side, he caught sight of the larger fish-man, stalking what appeared to be a hidden and oblivious person. The Sage waited until the fish-man was only a few feet away, remaining as purposefully unaware as he could. When his would-be ambusher was only a few feet away, the Sage spun, his dueling cane whipping around to catch the side of the coral spear and pin it down into the ground. The fish-man looked up in surprise as the Sage stood up. “Now, we have no need for that kind of behavior.” He said, locking eyes with the deep black pools of the fish-man, “though what happens next depends entirely on whether you can understand what I am saying right now.”
To his mild surprise, the fish-man straightened up and spoke in a surprisingly understandable voice, “Very well then, stranger, we shall settle this with words. I am Crota, a Zora of the place your people call Fishman Island.” He began walking out onto the beach, and the Sage followed, feeling confident that he was not in extreme danger with the two Zoras. “Why has one of Rapture ventured so far to the surface?” he asked, and the Sage detected the subtle distaste that Crota could not entirely cover. The Sage pondered what the Zora could have meant. The way he had inflected the word implied that Rapture was referring to something other than the general emotion, but the name was ambiguous enough that it could as easily be a place as a philosophy. Had Carter mentioned something about Rapture during his explanation?
The Sage shrugged, “I am afraid I am unfamiliar with the term you speak of. Though I would assure you that I am far more damp than rapt at this particular instance.” Crota may have smiled at this, but it was difficult for the Sage to tell.
The smaller Zora noticed their approach and moved to join their conversation. Crota gave the Sage an appraising look, “No. I can see by your garb that you are not one of Rapture. How did you come by this boat?” The Sage maintained the Zora’s gaze, his voice slightly even as he replied.
“It was a gift from a friend. Though it seems to have broken.” The Zora’s expression was unreadable, so the Sage moved over to the boat himself, and began to search for a possible cause of the issue. “If you have no further questions I must be off.” He called out to the Zoras.
I have more pressing matters than assuaging the curiosity of errant Aquans. He thought somewhat bitterly. Crota gave a short laugh, his voice containing the slightest hint of a burble. “And where will you go, man from the distance? Your boat lies on the shore, beached and broken. You have stranded yourself. Come, sit with my brother and I. Explain your story, and we may be moved to aid you.”
With that the two Zoras began moving up the beach, back towards the copse of trees in the island’s center. The Sage stood by the shoreline and the speedboat for a moment considering. It was true what the Zora said, he had no way of fixing the boat himself. He could see nothing wrong with the vessel, but it no longer functioned.
In his youth, the Sage had heard only stories of those that lived beneath the waves of his homeland. They were known to be devious, luring men to their death in the deceptive tides. The Sage had always attributed the stories to myth and legend over fact, but here in this place he was to be proven wrong yet again. There was no way of knowing the intention of the two Zoras, but the Sage was unlikely to escape them if he attempted to run. By the time he finished summoning a seaworthy vessel, they would clearly know what he was planning. He turned, and began to follow the two Zoras. He had, in truth, little choice in the matter.
The Sage raced across the ocean with a renewed sense of progress. For the first time in the short while he had found himself in this uncanny world, he was achieving a goal, rather than simply reacting to whatever new bizarrity the Verse felt compelled to saddle him with next. He checked the crude map he had been given by the old Bloodlance, Issac Carter. Checking the sun to reorient himself, he eased off the motor. The speedboat he had been given by Noodle slowed down and began to rock as the waves reasserted their dominance over the motion of the craft. Carter had explained that the concept of North was now more-or-less invented, since compasses and the like did not have much use. Still, direction could be established by convention alone, and so the Sun and stars marked the way for any naval exploration.
He had drifted slightly farther west than he wanted, the Sage decided after a moment. He was hugging close to islands, hoping from shoreline to shoreline in short stretches. Noodle had explained how the boat was not built to handle any sorts of extreme conditions, and the Sage was unfamiliar with the vehicle enough that he would be helpless to repair it should it become damaged.
He was calling in a lot of favors he hadn’t earned yet, he mused. Dasha had explained numerous of the Omniverse’s oddities to him, as well as sheltering him from the Imperial forces of Costa del Sol. Noodle had helped immensely in the recovery of his bullet wound, which seemed to be on the mend with altogether surprising speed, and had summoned this much more manageable vehicle for his trip. Issac Carter had taught him the islands and routes of the Vasty Deep, without which he would not have his present course.
One day he would need to repay all these debts. But first he would need to gain a position where he had something to offer in return. A creditor could be stretched with the right tongue, but eventually he would need something to show for his efforts.
After realigning his course, he set off again, bearing towards Blue Flame Island with all speed. Carter was right, he would not be able to pilot this craft through either a blockade or a smugglers’ route. He needed a professional, and Bilgewater was famous (infamous?) for having the best according to Carter. He was only about a day’s journey away at this point, and the weather had proved far more cooperative than he had previously encountered. It seemed likely that he would arrive at Blue Flame Island without issue.
Or not… he thought, as the speedboat refused to re-start. He couldn’t fathom what could be wrong with the machine, but then, he hadn’t learned how it worked beyond simply the piloting mechanisms, so attempting to repair the device would be next to impossible. The Sage smacked his dueling cane on the bow of the speedboat in frustration. Nothing would ever go swiftly anymore. This world seemed determined to throw obstacles into his path at every turn. Like an amused child placing rocks before a burdened ant. He thought bitterly, again the grinning face flashed in his memory. Precisely that.
After a moment’s deliberation, he began to summon an oar. Abandoning the boat would be a rash decision, perhaps it simply needed a rest, then it would start working again. It reminded him vaguely of the steam-powered devices some of the more eccentric scholars had been experimenting with back home. Perhaps the machine had simply gotten clogged by something?
Newly-fashioned oar in hand, the Sage attempted to paddle his way towards the nearest island. It was small, a clump of trees, boasting one of the thinnest stretches of beach that the Sage had seen. He hoped he wouldn’t have to spend very long there. The Speedboat beached, and the Sage hopped off into the surf. His nose wrinkled as the ocean waves rushed in to fill his boots, but began dragging the boat further ashore to make sure it didn’t get carried off. The boat was heavier than he would have guessed, and after a few feet, he could neither drag the boat further ashore, nor push it back into the deeper water. He would have to wait for the tides to rise, that would be annoying.
Boots squelching, the Sage made his way onto the island, deciding to give it a cursory glance before examining the boat. He didn’t want any unnecessary surprises, and deserted islands were notorious for not actually being deserted. This one seemed to actually live up to his namesake however, as nothing stirred in the copse of palm trees but a few errant birds resting their wings before continuing on their journey. The Sage looked up at them from the shade of the copse. You have no idea how good you have it, my winged friends. You have no need of beast, boat or road to get you to your destination, simply an open and inviting sky. Turning his attention back to his search, the Sage traversed the rest of the island. Satisfied that this place was indeed uninhabited, the Sage returned to the shore where he had first arrived, only to find his boat was being inspected by two figures of a very aquatic persuasion.
The Sage dropped down to a crouch, watching from the underbrush of the island, as the two silver-scaled fish-men examined his boat. He had been gone all of what, fifteen minutes exploring the island, and his vessel had already been found by potentially dangerous individuals. The smaller of the two beings looked relatively unthreatening, but the larger one had a well-made spear that seemed to have been fashioned out of some sort of coral. The Sage cursed as the smaller fish-man pointed to his tracks, heading up the beach and into the copse of the island’s center. The Taller fish-man turned to look, his dorsal tail-head flapping behind him. They conversed briefly but the Sage was too far away to make out their words. The larger of the two fish-man began making his way up the beach, following the tracks the Sage had made moments before, while the smaller one continued to explore the ship, now climbing into the cockpit to examine the controls.
The Sage waited, watching as the larger fish-man passed into the copse of brush and palm trees. Without knowing anything about these strange creatures, his best option was to wait, they might be dangerous, but they seemed curious and relaxed enough that he didn’t want to simply attack them without provocation. Instead he watched as the smaller fish-man poked around the speedboat, trying levers and buttons without response. The Sage couldn’t really mock the fish-man that much for it, however, as he himself hadn’t known what purpose the buttons served. The smaller fish-man coiled back in surprise when his experiments resulted in two black bars waving across the small window in the front of the boat. The creature certainly didn’t seem malicious or calculating enough to pose too large a threat to his own safety, although it was quite clear that the fish-headed being would be useless in terms of helping his problem with the boat.
The Sage almost made to leave his hiding place and approach, when he heard the faintest crunching of leaves from behind him. Turning his head almost imperceptibly to the side, he caught sight of the larger fish-man, stalking what appeared to be a hidden and oblivious person. The Sage waited until the fish-man was only a few feet away, remaining as purposefully unaware as he could. When his would-be ambusher was only a few feet away, the Sage spun, his dueling cane whipping around to catch the side of the coral spear and pin it down into the ground. The fish-man looked up in surprise as the Sage stood up. “Now, we have no need for that kind of behavior.” He said, locking eyes with the deep black pools of the fish-man, “though what happens next depends entirely on whether you can understand what I am saying right now.”
To his mild surprise, the fish-man straightened up and spoke in a surprisingly understandable voice, “Very well then, stranger, we shall settle this with words. I am Crota, a Zora of the place your people call Fishman Island.” He began walking out onto the beach, and the Sage followed, feeling confident that he was not in extreme danger with the two Zoras. “Why has one of Rapture ventured so far to the surface?” he asked, and the Sage detected the subtle distaste that Crota could not entirely cover. The Sage pondered what the Zora could have meant. The way he had inflected the word implied that Rapture was referring to something other than the general emotion, but the name was ambiguous enough that it could as easily be a place as a philosophy. Had Carter mentioned something about Rapture during his explanation?
The Sage shrugged, “I am afraid I am unfamiliar with the term you speak of. Though I would assure you that I am far more damp than rapt at this particular instance.” Crota may have smiled at this, but it was difficult for the Sage to tell.
The smaller Zora noticed their approach and moved to join their conversation. Crota gave the Sage an appraising look, “No. I can see by your garb that you are not one of Rapture. How did you come by this boat?” The Sage maintained the Zora’s gaze, his voice slightly even as he replied.
“It was a gift from a friend. Though it seems to have broken.” The Zora’s expression was unreadable, so the Sage moved over to the boat himself, and began to search for a possible cause of the issue. “If you have no further questions I must be off.” He called out to the Zoras.
I have more pressing matters than assuaging the curiosity of errant Aquans. He thought somewhat bitterly. Crota gave a short laugh, his voice containing the slightest hint of a burble. “And where will you go, man from the distance? Your boat lies on the shore, beached and broken. You have stranded yourself. Come, sit with my brother and I. Explain your story, and we may be moved to aid you.”
With that the two Zoras began moving up the beach, back towards the copse of trees in the island’s center. The Sage stood by the shoreline and the speedboat for a moment considering. It was true what the Zora said, he had no way of fixing the boat himself. He could see nothing wrong with the vessel, but it no longer functioned.
In his youth, the Sage had heard only stories of those that lived beneath the waves of his homeland. They were known to be devious, luring men to their death in the deceptive tides. The Sage had always attributed the stories to myth and legend over fact, but here in this place he was to be proven wrong yet again. There was no way of knowing the intention of the two Zoras, but the Sage was unlikely to escape them if he attempted to run. By the time he finished summoning a seaworthy vessel, they would clearly know what he was planning. He turned, and began to follow the two Zoras. He had, in truth, little choice in the matter.
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If history is to become legend, it first must be recorded.