High Seas

[Morgan LaLuna]

It wasn’t so much the pitching of the boat that woke the two from their huddle in the bed, though it certainly helped, when a high pitched whistle broke through their dreams and pulled them from the fitful slumber they’d managed to fall into. Morgan tumbled onto the floor ass over teakettle, tangling into his blanket and pulling most of the bedding with him. He was already wearing his boots, scuffed and roughened, black pants and his loose white long sleeved shirt. He quickly extricated himself from the blankets, and scrambled for a black jacket on the wall, hung by the hood. “Gwen… Gwen, we got to go…” He was sure he’d felt her tumbling next to him, maybe, or hearing her awaken; he knew she would not be far behind. He counted on it, really. Morgan pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, but it made no difference once he stepped out of the cabin, winds tearing the fabric from his head and whipping his hair wildly as water stung his face.

Immediately, his arm went up, and he carefully moved along the deck until he reached Bosun and Jim at the steerage, the latter yelling at the former vehemently. Well, it certainly looked like yelling. Their voices were torn from their lips by salty air, and he could only guess what they were arguing about. The larger half-orc spotted Morgan as he approached, and clasped him on the shoulder, leaning in and nearly yelling into his ear.

“Skirt it, boy! You do what you’re told, and you will get us out of this alive!” he patted the captain’s face roughly once, and shouldered past. Morgan made it quickly to the wheel, and Jim hunched over one side of the wheel, ticking his head toward the other. Morgan quickly took hold, and winced at the sound of a crewmember losing their footing and skittering dangerously across the deck. A broken leg, and they weren’t even in the thick of it yet. Morgan gripped the spokes of the wheel tightly, and furrowed his brow against the wind and rain. A wave of water washed over the deck, thankfully mostly sloshing across the deck harmlessly. They’d known about the storm of course, and had prepared by battening down everything, tying anything that wasn’t attached to the ship down in any way they could. Earlier in the evening, when it had just been gentle rocking waves and the smell of rain in the air, Bosun lamented the lack of cargo in the hold. When pressed, the man had said a heavier ship was harder to tilt. Now, Morgan was thinking of the ship’s empty belly, and really hoping that nothing happened to upset it.

He wasn’t able to think of it long however, for he and Jim, amidst calls to “Reef the sails!” looked up at the very same moment, to see a seeming wall of water. Morgan called out, gripping the wheel ever tighter and wrapping a soaking wet sleeve around his hand. “Hold on to something!” there was a wild tugging both ways at the wheel, and he and the other man were nearly tangled in it to keep it on course. Morgan felt his throat fall into his gut quite suddenly, and he realized the boat was tipping, then rising rather suddenly. Where before there was nothing but churning water, now there was roiling clouds and bright lightning that lit the deck brighter than daylight, lighting the masts and rigging like a skeleton. Water washed over the prow, sprayed up violently when they dipped, and now the whole deck seemed so off-kilter. It felt almost as if he were hanging on the wheel, and he dug his feet further in, keeping the wheel under control the best he could. Jim’s own boots were not so reliable in that moment, and only his own weight as he held on for dear life kept the wheel stable on his behalf. Morgan found himself pulling in his own direction more often, and his arms were starting to get tired.

If the dip before the climbing of the wave unsettled his stomach, the sudden lurch of the Heathen as she tipped over the crest of the wave at an angle and promptly tilted nearly ass-up as they rode the swell down nearly made it simply turn to mush. He found he couldn't breathe in that moment, that air seemed solid to his lungs. There was a strangled cry that did manage to escape his lips, right before there was an impact that caused the entire ship to groan and creak, and Morgan thought he heard wood splintering in that moment of impact between him and the wheel. Any breath he was still holding was forced out in a sudden grunt, and he barely managed to hold on. Jim was wheezing and breathing heavily, and Morgan discovered he was taking more of the pull of the wheel than before. He called out over the sound of water, wind, and the rolling tail of thunder to check on the man, and was met with a hand heavily grasping at one of the spokes. Morgan squinted heavily and wiped his face the best he could on his shoulders, then looked out to the sky, searching… There, a lightening of the clouds, just enough to promise at the very least a respite from the rain that felt like dull blades slicing the skin. The two at the wheel stabilized, and the captain looked to the man, tossing his head in the direction he’d spotted. Bosun had said to skirt it, and that he would get them out of this alive. He had to get them out of this alive. The two came to a silent agreement underneath the roar of mighty and angry ocean, and wrested the wheel to one side enough to turn the trajectory of their travel into that beacon of hope. Another swell, half the size of the first, dropped the acrobat’s stomach, and he gripped the wheel for dear life as he looked up to the sails, struggling and starting to strain in a way that didn’t look quite right.

“Trim the sails!” he called desperately over the din, and at first, he didn’t expect to be heard. Or listened to. The sails further shortened, and some amount of the tension certainly eased enough that the canvas no longer creaked ominously. His heart thudded in his chest, already hammering and now jumping into the captain’s throat. The ship rocked on choppy waves, many of them tall enough to splash the deck of the Heathen herself. Thunder followed lightning closely, and rain came at the crew sideways. Or maybe they were sideways. He wasn’t sure anymore what direction was which, all he knew was his ship was being tossed by the ocean like a toy in a cartoon bathtub, and he had to get them out of this. He had to get out of this.

For hours, the storm raged and swept the ocean with volley after volley of fury, and the Heathen disappeared into the thick grey veil of rain, limping carefully through the tempest without trying to catch her wrath.

[Gwen Kasady]

The conversation between Gwen and Morgan had grown silent. For a long time, the girl stared at the ceiling, ice blue eyes searching memories and feelings as she awaited another question from the acrobat she held so close. The rocking of the ship, with those creaking timbers and ghostly sounds, and thunder in the distance, would claim the silence as they contemplated that land that seemed so far away now. Another life. Another world. Eventually, both would succumb to restless slumber and inevitably twist around each other in that weird, funny way they always did when they shared a bed.

It wasn’t so much the pitching of the boat that woke the two from their huddle in the bed, though it certainly helped, when a high pitched whistle broke through their dreams and pulled them from the fitful slumber they’d managed to fall into. Morgan was the first to tumble out of bed, ass over teakettle, as he drug the sheets that wrapped them both with him. Gwen, still wearing the silver leather armor she’d worn since Shipwreck, was slowly pulled along until her entire upper half hung lazily over the edge of the mattress. Hair all a mess, dragging against the wooden floor in time to the swaying, one hand landed on the deck with a thud but somehow her eyes remained closed, still fast asleep.

“...Gwen, we got to go…,” Morgan called to her. The words, registering somewhere in her subconscious, roused the girl slowly and eyes fluttered open as that hand next to her head went to rub at her face sleepily.

“Wh...what?” she asked. Looking over to where she’d heard his voice, Gwen wrinkled her nose and closed one eye in confusion when she saw the vision of Morgan, upside down, shrugging on his coat and then moving towards the door. “Oh shit!” she exclaimed, eyes going wide as she became instantly awake and the seriousness of the moment hit her. Bringing her other hand down beside her, she pulled herself forward and dipped her head until she rolled across the floor to where her boots lay against the wall. Pulling them on as fast as she could, she quickly made her way over to the door just as Morgan wrenched it open, revealing the ferocity of the storm on the other side.

She watched as her Captain fearlessly threw his arm in front of his face and went out despite the whipping rain and howling winds that tore at him. Reaching the door herself, she placed a hand upon the frame of it and peered out cautiously. It was madness out there! The rain was coming in at an angle, every so often whipping and swirling in different directions when the wind had other plans for it. Crewmembers shouted from one to the next in an attempt to hear the desperate calls of the other. She couldn’t hear anything of course, but from the strained expressions on their faces she could tell they were having a hard time of it themselves.

Stepping out of the safety of the Captain’s quarters, she bent to one side and held her hand up when she too was battered by the rain that stung when it hit. A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, close enough for her to hear the crackle of electricity, and she flinched when the booming thunder accompanied it, rattling her violently. Blinded momentarily from the flash of light, she squinted hard as she took a few steps further onto the rain slicked deck. When her vision returned, she saw a crewmember lose their footing and skitter dangerously across the deck to an abrupt stop and hold their leg where it bent at an odd angle. A broken leg, and somehow she thought this was just the beginning.

Looking from the injured crew member to the rest of the crew, trying to figure out what she could possibly do to help, a large hand landed on her shoulder from behind that made her flinch. Before she could turn her head fully to look, Bosun’s mouth was at her ear as he pointed in front of them.

“There! Go and help them lower the main halyard, girl!” he yelled through the wind and rain. When Gwen looked, she could see four men pulling hard at one of the lines that led to the sails with a spot in the middle that was vacant.

“Got it!” she yelled back, though her voice would be lost to the howling wind all around her. Bosun had already moved to tend to the man with the broken leg and drag him below deck. Trudging forward, fighting to keep her balance as the ship pitched and bucked, she finally found her place in line between the four other men as they fought to reef the sails. Just as she got into position however, bright blue eyes happened to look up and they widened at what they saw. A wall of water, taller than the Heathen herself, was coming directly at them.

Grabbing hold of the line, Gwen’s knuckles went white and teeth gritted as she pulled with the rest of the men. They were either going to die or they were going to pull through this, and she wasn’t about to give anything less than one hundred and ten percent to save her Captain, her crew and herself. Eyes forward as she pulled with all her might, she watched the bow of the ship dip down and a spray of sea water splash over the prow, further soaking the deck, before the ship tipped the other way and they were soon climbing their way over the swell in the sea. The backwards tilt of the deck helped Gwen and the other crew members pull at the line, easing the strain in their screaming muscles for a bit. That is, until the angle shifted and they started coming down the other side of the monstrous wave.

The quick movement threw Gwen off balance, causing her to lose her footing and her hold on the rope they were all desperately clinging to. With a shrill shriek, her feet flew from underneath her and she landed hard on her backside before starting to slide towards the prow of the ship. Twisting and turning in her descent, fingertips clawed at the deck futilely, desperately trying to gain purchase and stop the slide she had fallen into. Suddenly, she was ripped from the deck and clawing, flailing hands once more grabbed hold of the line she had been pulling at with the other men. Blue eyes blinking in confusion, she looked up to see Bosun standing there, his green skin dripping rain and sea water as he looked back towards the helm.

“Trim the sails!” he bellowed out as he turned towards them again. He’d been watching the Captain, listening and waiting for the order he knew would come and had then relayed it to them. Looking forward again, Gwen grit her teeth harder and put those screaming, aching muscles to work once more to shorten the sails even more before the strain snapped the mast and doomed them all. Another swell, half the size of the first, jostled the girl but she didn’t falter this time. Fingers merely dug into the spongy wet rope harder and her footing held firm. She couldn’t fall again.

With their tugging, the sails shortened further and the mast no longer creaked and groaned dangerously under the strain. Gwen’s hands, arms and legs ached under the strain and her heart thudded in her chest, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. None of them could. The ship rocked on choppy waves, many of them tall enough to splash the deck still. Thunder followed lightning closely, and rain came at Gwen and the crew sideways. Or maybe they were sideways. She had no way of knowing, but she trusted Bosun and her Captain with her life and knew they would get them out of this alive.

For hours, the storm raged and swept the ocean with volley after volley of fury, and the Heathen disappeared into the thick, grey veil of rain, limping carefully through the tempest without trying to catch her wrath.