Many stories are told over and over again, timeless and ageless, surviving
countless seasons. These stories shall never die and their souls will carry
on forever.
However, some tales are forgotten, and some are never told. Some drift off into nothingness, lapsing from the conscious minds of even those who lived them. Some just become...
~ ...Lost in Darkness ~
~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~ Part 1 of 4 ~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~
The day dawned with a clear sky and a light Spring breeze that ruffled the sails and flags of the ships that had been waiting in the harbor. It had been a long, hard winter for the land and the sea, as both had been riddled with nearly constant storms and harsh winds.
Yet the past months seemed almost but a dream on this day, as songbirds stirred from their sleeping placed and chirped happily for all to hear. That is, if anyone were to bother to listen. Most everyone about the docks had been busy since dawn's first gray light, preparing half a dozen ships for a long voyage of great importance. The men all shouted, cursed, and laughed at one another as they worked, most of them anxious to get back out onto the ocean once again.
Once young man, however, was taking in as much of the Spring morning as he could. Walking slowly, he listened to the bird's songs, felt the sun's rays upon his face, watcher butterflies dance about the just waking tree branches... and all he could think of was that he would soon have to leave it. He would have to leave it all behind for months upon months. The sea would carry him away upon a great ship, and, oh, how he would miss land.
Pausing by a tree, he plucked a few of the small leafs from their branch. Ink-stained fingers then carefully opened the pages of the hard cover book grasped under his arm. Before he could place the leafs between the pages for safekeeping, the book was snatched from his grasp. He spun, glaring, to face the redheaded brute who'd just managed to sneak up on him.
"Give that back, Andrew!" He tried to take the book back, but it was quickly pulled from his reach.
Andrew was not alone. At his back were at least a dozen others, most of them equally large and strong. They laughed in amusement at the failed attempts to retrieve the book.
'Simple minds, simple pleasures.' The young man mentally reminded himself. He unslung his large bag from his shoulder, setting it carefully upon the ground, so that he could use both hands in trying to get his book back.
Andrew quickly flipped the parchment pages open, chuckling already. "Let's see whut kine'a thin's our scribe's been-a-writin' than no'un kin see!" He started to read aloud from the book, in spite of being ordered to stop many times by the writer.
"The dragon towered o'er him!" Andrew read in an overly dramatic manner that butchered the words. The writer tried time and time again to retrieve the story before much of it could be read, but Andrew kept twisting and turning, always avoiding his attempts while still reading on. "Teeth 'ike-a swords 'n claws-a daggers! 'is wings pounced th'air, a'most throwin' the war-yor off'is feet! 'e made eet clear that no'un would pass!
"Fear gripped the war-yor, but 'e be daunted by th'beast, not affa comin' this far! Quick azza flash of light'ning, his hand gripped 'is sword. The blade zipped through th'air, bounced offa the dragon's tuff hyde. This would be-a ruff bat'le, but Jack woul never give up!"
The crowd of men broke into laughter once more.
"Jack?!" Andrew asked between his chuckling, "Y'writin' a story 'bout y'self? Azza hero?"
The young scribe was finally able to snatch his book back. He could feel his face turning read as a rose. "One can dream, can't he?" He tried to defend himself.
"Aye, one kin." Andrew replied, laughing still, "An' that's all y'kin d, Jack. You keep a-dreamin', laddie. But it ain't never gonna happen!"
"Maybe you're right." Jack said, taking into account the double negatives.
"Course I am!" Andrew said, walking past Jack and adding, "Y'kint e'en ussa sword!"
"I could if someone would just teach me!" Jack called after him as the others all laughed and prodded at him on their way past. A great sigh welled up in Jack's chest. He pulled his bag back onto his shoulder and continued onward, head hung.
Minutes later, Jack's heavy boots were making their way across the deck of the hip known as "Banewake." The vessel belonged to his uncle, Captain Jacob, and it had a reputation for taking on dangerous missions.
Jack looked like he was the last person who'd be found aboard this ship, being very tall and thin, with hardly any muscle on him at all. His hair was jet black, hanging to just past his shoulders, and it was slightly curly. He would usually keep it tied back so it wouldn't be in his way. His face was clean-shaven whenever he could manage it, and he'd go to great lengths to do so. His eyes were a very deep brown, yet they appeared black at times, in contrast to his skin, which was very pale from long summer days spent indoors. He had no real scars to speak of. No tattoos. No distinctive markings. He wore his clothing loosely fit, mostly because of his thinness. While usually practical, he couldn't resist throwing in a bit of a theatrical flare to his attire now and then, whenever he could get away with it.
By all truth, Jack looked more as though he should be a traveling bard who sits in taverns or at fairs and tells great tales to all who will listen. Perhaps he should have followed this path instead, but he didn't. With sailing, he at least knew where his next meal was coming from, and it was an almost steadily paying job. Truth be known, he knew too little of sailing. He'd watched everything that happened on the ship, but he never took part, for that was just his job. He was the scribe for "Banewake," nothing more, nothing less. It was his job to document the passing days and months at sea, then write reports on the venture for the King, or which ever person may be paying for the job at the time.
This time around, it would be the King who Jack would write his report for. The crew of "Banewake," along with her sister ships, had been charged with the task of hauling weaponry and other supplies overseas to a place where a great war had been raging on for months upon months. By far, it was not the most dangerous mission the "Banewake" and her sisters had taken. While the captains all had a taste for adventure and danger, the price the King would pay was more then enough to convince them to take on this 'tame mission.'
Jack made his way down into the ship, finding the familiar bunk he'd so often slept in. He would describe it, in his poetic fashion, as being 'cozy, in need of small adjustments, but more than suitable.' What this really meant was that it was very small, uncomfortable, but he had nothing to complain about, as he had been given one of the few private rooms in "Banewake." Most of the other cabins slept at least four people, but because Jack often stayed awake till all hours with his writings, he was allowed a room with but one other bunkmate, who never complained.
His bunkmate was already there. He was lying upon the lower bunk, looking as if he were about to fall asleep. One of his dark eyes slowly opened.
Jack smiled, "Hello, Zero! How are you doing?"
Zero barked in reply. The little white and gray terrier mix-breed then leapt off the bed and ran about jack's ankles as he hoisted his bag onto the bunk. Jack had owned Zero for years, and while the dog was growing old, he still had the energy of a pup.
The dog followed close behind Jack as the man headed back onto deck to talk to his uncle.
Captain Jacob was a tall, strong, and very hansom man, in spite of the scar that ran along the right side of his face. While his hair was much the same as Jack's, very dark and wavy, the Captain had somehow been blessed with bright green eyes, and his skin was of a darker tone. In the past, the two had been mistaken for brothers -even twins- very often, but it was becoming a less and less common assumption. Jack was becoming paler and Jacob was beginning to acquire more of the wrinkles about the eyes that sailors often get from squinting into the wind. This made the Captain look more his age now.
Captain Jacob was the only family that Jack knew. His mother had died during childbirth, and his father was with him for less than seven years after that. He's been killed in battle, a war in some far off land his son couldn't remember the name of, fighting for some cause that would never actually be understood by Jack. All of the vague memories of it had been scratched from his mind as a lad. His uncle raised him, and he was a kind man for the most part, and so Jack had been rather content with life. Or so he told himself he was. If it was the truth or not, he wouldn't admit.
Jack found Captain Jacob on deck, in the process of making sure everything was in order before they shoved off.
"Captain, I wanted to ask-"
"Not a word of it, Jack." The Captain interrupted before Jack could say much, "I know what you're gonna ask, 'cause you've been askin' it every other day for the past three years! I'm going to give you the same answer I gave you the last few hundred times, too! No! I'm not teaching you the sword!"
Jack hated when his uncle would do that... guess what was about to be said. More than that, he hated when the man was right in his guess. Something about it was very creepy.
"But, uncle, I'm ready! I can do it!"
"No, you're not, and no, you can't!"
"Then when?" Jack asked in frustration, "When will I be ready?"
The Captain fixed him with a blank stare, sighed, and then started giving the orders to hoist anchor.
"When?" Jack pressed on.
"We can't talk about this right now, Jack!" The Captain turned on his heels and left quickly.
The day's sail went smoothly, "Banewake" skimming lightly over the water with her five sister ships tailing. The destination would take at least a month to reach. Two months round trip, give or take a week, plus whatever time they'd have to stay at the next dock. That could very, depending on many things. The bottom line was, by the time they pulled back into port, spring would be near over. A depressed sigh welled in Jack's chest at this thought.
The night was dragging long. He'd finished his documenting for the day's events, and then written in his book until a bit of writer's block struck him. At this time, he began idly tickling his own face with his tattered old feather quill until an idea or sleep would come to him. Neither did. Not for some time. The rocking of the ship had not been kind to him throughout the day. The long winter stuck inland must have taken its toll upon him, as his seasickness was worse than ever before. Then again, he was always seasick the first few days out. It didn't matter how long he was sailing for, a few days inland, and he'd lose his sea-legs again.
"Why am I even out here?" He asked the darkness. As always, the darkness didn't reply.
~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~
However, some tales are forgotten, and some are never told. Some drift off into nothingness, lapsing from the conscious minds of even those who lived them. Some just become...
~ ...Lost in Darkness ~
~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~ Part 1 of 4 ~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~
The day dawned with a clear sky and a light Spring breeze that ruffled the sails and flags of the ships that had been waiting in the harbor. It had been a long, hard winter for the land and the sea, as both had been riddled with nearly constant storms and harsh winds.
Yet the past months seemed almost but a dream on this day, as songbirds stirred from their sleeping placed and chirped happily for all to hear. That is, if anyone were to bother to listen. Most everyone about the docks had been busy since dawn's first gray light, preparing half a dozen ships for a long voyage of great importance. The men all shouted, cursed, and laughed at one another as they worked, most of them anxious to get back out onto the ocean once again.
Once young man, however, was taking in as much of the Spring morning as he could. Walking slowly, he listened to the bird's songs, felt the sun's rays upon his face, watcher butterflies dance about the just waking tree branches... and all he could think of was that he would soon have to leave it. He would have to leave it all behind for months upon months. The sea would carry him away upon a great ship, and, oh, how he would miss land.
Pausing by a tree, he plucked a few of the small leafs from their branch. Ink-stained fingers then carefully opened the pages of the hard cover book grasped under his arm. Before he could place the leafs between the pages for safekeeping, the book was snatched from his grasp. He spun, glaring, to face the redheaded brute who'd just managed to sneak up on him.
"Give that back, Andrew!" He tried to take the book back, but it was quickly pulled from his reach.
Andrew was not alone. At his back were at least a dozen others, most of them equally large and strong. They laughed in amusement at the failed attempts to retrieve the book.
'Simple minds, simple pleasures.' The young man mentally reminded himself. He unslung his large bag from his shoulder, setting it carefully upon the ground, so that he could use both hands in trying to get his book back.
Andrew quickly flipped the parchment pages open, chuckling already. "Let's see whut kine'a thin's our scribe's been-a-writin' than no'un kin see!" He started to read aloud from the book, in spite of being ordered to stop many times by the writer.
"The dragon towered o'er him!" Andrew read in an overly dramatic manner that butchered the words. The writer tried time and time again to retrieve the story before much of it could be read, but Andrew kept twisting and turning, always avoiding his attempts while still reading on. "Teeth 'ike-a swords 'n claws-a daggers! 'is wings pounced th'air, a'most throwin' the war-yor off'is feet! 'e made eet clear that no'un would pass!
"Fear gripped the war-yor, but 'e be daunted by th'beast, not affa comin' this far! Quick azza flash of light'ning, his hand gripped 'is sword. The blade zipped through th'air, bounced offa the dragon's tuff hyde. This would be-a ruff bat'le, but Jack woul never give up!"
The crowd of men broke into laughter once more.
"Jack?!" Andrew asked between his chuckling, "Y'writin' a story 'bout y'self? Azza hero?"
The young scribe was finally able to snatch his book back. He could feel his face turning read as a rose. "One can dream, can't he?" He tried to defend himself.
"Aye, one kin." Andrew replied, laughing still, "An' that's all y'kin d, Jack. You keep a-dreamin', laddie. But it ain't never gonna happen!"
"Maybe you're right." Jack said, taking into account the double negatives.
"Course I am!" Andrew said, walking past Jack and adding, "Y'kint e'en ussa sword!"
"I could if someone would just teach me!" Jack called after him as the others all laughed and prodded at him on their way past. A great sigh welled up in Jack's chest. He pulled his bag back onto his shoulder and continued onward, head hung.
Minutes later, Jack's heavy boots were making their way across the deck of the hip known as "Banewake." The vessel belonged to his uncle, Captain Jacob, and it had a reputation for taking on dangerous missions.
Jack looked like he was the last person who'd be found aboard this ship, being very tall and thin, with hardly any muscle on him at all. His hair was jet black, hanging to just past his shoulders, and it was slightly curly. He would usually keep it tied back so it wouldn't be in his way. His face was clean-shaven whenever he could manage it, and he'd go to great lengths to do so. His eyes were a very deep brown, yet they appeared black at times, in contrast to his skin, which was very pale from long summer days spent indoors. He had no real scars to speak of. No tattoos. No distinctive markings. He wore his clothing loosely fit, mostly because of his thinness. While usually practical, he couldn't resist throwing in a bit of a theatrical flare to his attire now and then, whenever he could get away with it.
By all truth, Jack looked more as though he should be a traveling bard who sits in taverns or at fairs and tells great tales to all who will listen. Perhaps he should have followed this path instead, but he didn't. With sailing, he at least knew where his next meal was coming from, and it was an almost steadily paying job. Truth be known, he knew too little of sailing. He'd watched everything that happened on the ship, but he never took part, for that was just his job. He was the scribe for "Banewake," nothing more, nothing less. It was his job to document the passing days and months at sea, then write reports on the venture for the King, or which ever person may be paying for the job at the time.
This time around, it would be the King who Jack would write his report for. The crew of "Banewake," along with her sister ships, had been charged with the task of hauling weaponry and other supplies overseas to a place where a great war had been raging on for months upon months. By far, it was not the most dangerous mission the "Banewake" and her sisters had taken. While the captains all had a taste for adventure and danger, the price the King would pay was more then enough to convince them to take on this 'tame mission.'
Jack made his way down into the ship, finding the familiar bunk he'd so often slept in. He would describe it, in his poetic fashion, as being 'cozy, in need of small adjustments, but more than suitable.' What this really meant was that it was very small, uncomfortable, but he had nothing to complain about, as he had been given one of the few private rooms in "Banewake." Most of the other cabins slept at least four people, but because Jack often stayed awake till all hours with his writings, he was allowed a room with but one other bunkmate, who never complained.
His bunkmate was already there. He was lying upon the lower bunk, looking as if he were about to fall asleep. One of his dark eyes slowly opened.
Jack smiled, "Hello, Zero! How are you doing?"
Zero barked in reply. The little white and gray terrier mix-breed then leapt off the bed and ran about jack's ankles as he hoisted his bag onto the bunk. Jack had owned Zero for years, and while the dog was growing old, he still had the energy of a pup.
The dog followed close behind Jack as the man headed back onto deck to talk to his uncle.
Captain Jacob was a tall, strong, and very hansom man, in spite of the scar that ran along the right side of his face. While his hair was much the same as Jack's, very dark and wavy, the Captain had somehow been blessed with bright green eyes, and his skin was of a darker tone. In the past, the two had been mistaken for brothers -even twins- very often, but it was becoming a less and less common assumption. Jack was becoming paler and Jacob was beginning to acquire more of the wrinkles about the eyes that sailors often get from squinting into the wind. This made the Captain look more his age now.
Captain Jacob was the only family that Jack knew. His mother had died during childbirth, and his father was with him for less than seven years after that. He's been killed in battle, a war in some far off land his son couldn't remember the name of, fighting for some cause that would never actually be understood by Jack. All of the vague memories of it had been scratched from his mind as a lad. His uncle raised him, and he was a kind man for the most part, and so Jack had been rather content with life. Or so he told himself he was. If it was the truth or not, he wouldn't admit.
Jack found Captain Jacob on deck, in the process of making sure everything was in order before they shoved off.
"Captain, I wanted to ask-"
"Not a word of it, Jack." The Captain interrupted before Jack could say much, "I know what you're gonna ask, 'cause you've been askin' it every other day for the past three years! I'm going to give you the same answer I gave you the last few hundred times, too! No! I'm not teaching you the sword!"
Jack hated when his uncle would do that... guess what was about to be said. More than that, he hated when the man was right in his guess. Something about it was very creepy.
"But, uncle, I'm ready! I can do it!"
"No, you're not, and no, you can't!"
"Then when?" Jack asked in frustration, "When will I be ready?"
The Captain fixed him with a blank stare, sighed, and then started giving the orders to hoist anchor.
"When?" Jack pressed on.
"We can't talk about this right now, Jack!" The Captain turned on his heels and left quickly.
The day's sail went smoothly, "Banewake" skimming lightly over the water with her five sister ships tailing. The destination would take at least a month to reach. Two months round trip, give or take a week, plus whatever time they'd have to stay at the next dock. That could very, depending on many things. The bottom line was, by the time they pulled back into port, spring would be near over. A depressed sigh welled in Jack's chest at this thought.
The night was dragging long. He'd finished his documenting for the day's events, and then written in his book until a bit of writer's block struck him. At this time, he began idly tickling his own face with his tattered old feather quill until an idea or sleep would come to him. Neither did. Not for some time. The rocking of the ship had not been kind to him throughout the day. The long winter stuck inland must have taken its toll upon him, as his seasickness was worse than ever before. Then again, he was always seasick the first few days out. It didn't matter how long he was sailing for, a few days inland, and he'd lose his sea-legs again.
"Why am I even out here?" He asked the darkness. As always, the darkness didn't reply.
~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~