A
Arcadius
Guest
And lo and so, we set sail once more. I can't say I missed Cerula, after all that happened, and despite being one of the two people not considered a kidnapper, likewise I have not missed Nura. I wondered what future held for the young William, but if nothing else, he was left with a ruthless and capable person, who perhaps even held a shred of care for him. Many on this world had to make do with lot less.
Regardless, we made it out with no permanent casualties, and the journey to the alternative resupply port at the Coleridge Island went without issue. The weather was favourable, and the sea was calm. Port Colerige itself was less than noteworthy. Place lived from being a strategic resupply point for merchant ships and from export of raw lumber from the forest that covered whatever was not Port Colerige on the island.
Compared to Cerula, well... even pirates had to be lucky on occasion, with things going as planned for a change. After we hauled the supplies aboard, I decided to make myself scarce, vanish into some port tavern, get drunk and lose myself in nostalgia. Not like the ship could leave without me anyway.
With the supplies loaded, Arcadius waited for a moment when noone was paying attention to the pier the ship was anchored at, then it was just a quick dash across the planks and he vanished into the bustle of the port.
Finding a tavern took only few moments more. Door opened, quick look across the establishment. Local fishers mostly, occasional real sailor and merchant. Coins and and bottles exchanged hands. Few steps to the empty table at the dimmest corner. Cork making a 'pop' sound. Sniff at the liquid inside the bottle, and finding the contents alcoholic enough. A swig or two, while hanging back on the chair.
Home...
He asked himself what he was doing here, on the other end of the world, sailing with pirates and misfits. He could have stayed home. Gather experience, make a career for himself. Use family connections and political intrigues to climb the social ladder. Not like he did not have had a huge headstart with his surname. Arcadis have been an old and noble family, as old and noble as they make them. Rich, and deeply ingrained into the Wisegrad's societal materium.
If he was not so hot headed, not so brash in his actions, he could have had anything. Young, and capable, he was. Talented even, so why was he here? Just to find his adventure? Did he really, really threw away all of this just to fuck around with group of pirates and other refuse, both of society and of themselves? Did he really voluntarily placed himself in way of violence, pain, murder?
He emptied half of the bottle. The train of thoughts changed. Memories of the past few weeks started to march through his head. The cold wake up on Stardusk. The evening in Yula Fei and the following battle. Wolves in the snow. The bomb and avalanche. The frozen north and nightmares of self immolation.
Another swig of rum suppressed those images. It was a life. He could just go to a tavern of the worst kind, buy himself rum that tasted like it was filtered through someone's kidneys first, and noone, noone gave a flying fuck. No fathers, mothers, uncles and who knows how many relatives looking down at him for just doing what he felt like doing, acting impulsively and not giving a damn about the consequences.
Home... was where the heart was. And his seemed like the kind that won't sit in one place for too long, before being dragged away again. A broken clock, never sure what time it is, so instead it decided to make time of its own.
Stardusk was a mobile realm of broken things society had no use for, and he was a prominent citizen. A misfit. Just another freak, in the freak kingdom.
Regardless, we made it out with no permanent casualties, and the journey to the alternative resupply port at the Coleridge Island went without issue. The weather was favourable, and the sea was calm. Port Colerige itself was less than noteworthy. Place lived from being a strategic resupply point for merchant ships and from export of raw lumber from the forest that covered whatever was not Port Colerige on the island.
Compared to Cerula, well... even pirates had to be lucky on occasion, with things going as planned for a change. After we hauled the supplies aboard, I decided to make myself scarce, vanish into some port tavern, get drunk and lose myself in nostalgia. Not like the ship could leave without me anyway.
With the supplies loaded, Arcadius waited for a moment when noone was paying attention to the pier the ship was anchored at, then it was just a quick dash across the planks and he vanished into the bustle of the port.
Finding a tavern took only few moments more. Door opened, quick look across the establishment. Local fishers mostly, occasional real sailor and merchant. Coins and and bottles exchanged hands. Few steps to the empty table at the dimmest corner. Cork making a 'pop' sound. Sniff at the liquid inside the bottle, and finding the contents alcoholic enough. A swig or two, while hanging back on the chair.
Home...
He asked himself what he was doing here, on the other end of the world, sailing with pirates and misfits. He could have stayed home. Gather experience, make a career for himself. Use family connections and political intrigues to climb the social ladder. Not like he did not have had a huge headstart with his surname. Arcadis have been an old and noble family, as old and noble as they make them. Rich, and deeply ingrained into the Wisegrad's societal materium.
If he was not so hot headed, not so brash in his actions, he could have had anything. Young, and capable, he was. Talented even, so why was he here? Just to find his adventure? Did he really, really threw away all of this just to fuck around with group of pirates and other refuse, both of society and of themselves? Did he really voluntarily placed himself in way of violence, pain, murder?
He emptied half of the bottle. The train of thoughts changed. Memories of the past few weeks started to march through his head. The cold wake up on Stardusk. The evening in Yula Fei and the following battle. Wolves in the snow. The bomb and avalanche. The frozen north and nightmares of self immolation.
Another swig of rum suppressed those images. It was a life. He could just go to a tavern of the worst kind, buy himself rum that tasted like it was filtered through someone's kidneys first, and noone, noone gave a flying fuck. No fathers, mothers, uncles and who knows how many relatives looking down at him for just doing what he felt like doing, acting impulsively and not giving a damn about the consequences.
Home... was where the heart was. And his seemed like the kind that won't sit in one place for too long, before being dragged away again. A broken clock, never sure what time it is, so instead it decided to make time of its own.
Stardusk was a mobile realm of broken things society had no use for, and he was a prominent citizen. A misfit. Just another freak, in the freak kingdom.