For the next few days, as it seemed, Jim Stacey found himself in the most tedious of circumstances. He often walked aimlessly on deck, overlooking the broad and endless sea for hours upon hours whilst having nothing else to do to keep him occupied. The strong winds mounted the waters into a rough tide, often making Jim Stacey seasick and irritable, with the occasional vomiting overboard. This everyone noted but dared not comment. It was embarrassing enough to be sick amongst a band of individuals who surpassed Jim Stacey in both experience and physical dexterity. Although he tried with all his effort to pass as the outdoorsy type, the adventurer fit for expedition, throughout the course of the travel, he did so in vain. Everyone else saw through his strained motives and his novice behavior.

Jim Stacey did not say more than a few words to anyone. He was afraid to since he was never the type to make new friends, or perhaps even new enemies, for that matter. It was if as though Jim Stacey's existence on the ship seemed insignificant, without any importance whatsoever. These thieves seemed to be part of a scheme Jim Stacey could not intertwine with. They were the threads that made up a whole tapestry of fellowship, duty, and honor. They traveled together like herds, looking out for themselves and their own. But, given from a variety of clues Jim Stacey observed, most were under the wing of Frundihl the Nord.

Frundihl's demeanor had changed since some nights ago. The Nord was more aggressive, not like his uproarious, intoxicated state. He spoke brashly, and, despite any utterances he had made to Jim Stacey of justice in connection with thievery and all those pretty things, he regarded the Reguard with much indifference. Jim Stacey figured the lack of moon sugar played a role in this situation. It seemed as though the substance was a calming stimulant for the crude barbarian. Everyone had seemed to be less lively around the Nord now given that it seemed as though most of the travelers were part of Frundihl's group of thieves. They feared his taunts, his full-blown discrimination. But they did not complain.

How sad it must be, Jim Stacey thought, to fear the power of just one man.

Now, as Jim Stacey realized, he preferred the Nord better delirious than not. Jim Stacey was not a fan of tyranny, and clearly Frundihl must have been a tyrant of some sorts, acting as the leader, empowering those who stood in his way. It made the Nord no better than the Imperials in Hammerfell. So why did such men have such powers as to strike fear in the hearts of many? Jim Stacey did now know, but he would not allow it to occur. He dreamed to have an alliance of his own, to be part of a community in which survival was based on trust and teamwork, not by the dictating of a leader. He aspired for an unbreakable, something he hoped to acquire soon.

But, side from these trivial issues, once more Jim Stacey stared out to sea. He let his mind flow like unperturbed streams, all of which met at one single ocean, the greatest thought. Anele. How he missed her terribly, much more than he had expected to. Time did not go by without a single remembrance of that impatient woman he left behind, her face had been an everlasting imprint on his mind throughout the days. Thinking back to the past, despite the traditional kind of woman Anele was, Jim Stacey hadn't shown her much appreciation for her hard work. This he regretted so. It was she who had to put up with Jim Stacey's shenanigans or his silly ramblings of riches and gold. He had been so childish, so naïve. Had he not met her, he would not have gotten far in his petty existence…

…Or would he?

That was the problem with the poor today. They've no ambition to prosper into beings of superior status. They fear change, they fear punishment, and if only bravery and courage were to enlighten them of the finer things in life, then they would change just as Jim Stacey vowed to change as well. Then again, fear had taken Jim Stacey by the whole, causing him to run away from life as he knew it.

He sighed inwardly to relieve himself of anxiety. The clouds had turned grayer, and the waters had grown rough as time progressed, signaling a storm brewing not too far off just as the crewmen predicted. There were nights so completely dark that it made walking upon deck seemed like a task too impossible to fulfill. Very often Jim Stacey had found himself weary caused by seasickness or the lacking of food. Rats indeed had managed to find their way into the feeding bins, or any other place for that matter, spoiling every edible grain obtainable. But desperately hungry mouths had devoured even those spoiled morsels, which were too valuable to put to waste. Already were there protests to land the boat ashore, if at least for a few hours for food supplies, but the shipmaster had negated that notion, claiming they were close enough to their destination. Most refused to believe this, however.

Jim Stacey kept himself occupied within the cabin for the time being. He caught a glimpse at the Dark Elf whom he had tumbled earlier, but he did not let his eyes wander too long. Both individuals did not speak, although Jim Stacey could've sworn that the Dark Elf would've wanted to share a conversation. They communicated somewhat telepathically, acknowledging each other's presence with a quick stare with the eyes or with a sudden blink before each of them continued amusing themselves. Jim Stacey could not help but marvel at the peculiarity of such a Dark Elf whom seemed to have an aura of professionalism and class within his character. He sported expensive clothing, hand made netch leather boots, and long brownish hair sleeked back above arched brows. A dark face rigid with a finely chiseled narrowness showed signs of pure elegance. There was a high possibility he came from noble linage, so why would he be traveling amongst low living knaves?

I surely would not be so crazy as to travel among thieves like these if I were rich, thought Jim Stacey as he rubbed his chin in thought. Then again, anyone might have their reasons for doing things.

The pitter-patter of rain against the wooded structure of the ship had moved most of the passengers in to a sleeping mode by the time Jim Stacey finished his recollecting. Bodies sprawled against the floor in bundled heaps as the sound of the storm brewed on outside. Jim Stacey figured he'd sleep himself. Grabbing his bedroll, he settled himself between its folds and quickly drifted off in sleep...

Sometime in between illusions and dreams, a disturbance had rudely awoken him. The ship violently rocked to and fro, causing the hanging lanterns to flicker wildly and swing from their ropes at the same rate. The rain was beating fiercely, and the winds seemed to shriek rather than whisper. Jim Stacey sat up. Something was not right. What was that noise he heard?

Looking around the darkened room, it appeared that no one else had seemed to notice the odd gushing sound coming not too far off from the area. Most were sleeping soundly. Stretching his arms out before him, yawning, Jim Stacey tried to reposition his right leg, which had fallen asleep itself, but had stopped when he felt his foot was wet. Soon he realized that his pant legs had been damp for some time, too. Odd, he thought.

Then to his side, he noticed a dark trail leading off into a corner on the other side of the hull. Jim Stacey could not guess what constituted this trail for the lamps were too dim to provide any light to make proper assumptions. Jim Stacey got up cautiously as to make as little noise as humanly possible, pausing for a second making sure no one else was awake. Their bodies were lifeless upon the floor as only the sound of their mingled breaths and snores seemed to cancel out any other disturbance. Jim Stacey's muffled footsteps sought their way beside the leading trail, balancing themselves against the violent rocking of the ship. He noticed the trail, or rather now considered a large puddle, had narrowed itself, disappearing into one point of the wall. The gushing noise was prominently heard from here.

There it was. A large spider like crack in the wood had caused a considerable leaking of water. It was so peculiar that such a sturdy structure would be susceptible to break down. Then again, what would Jim Stacey know about ships? The leaking must have been going on sometime through his sleep, and from the looks of it, there were no signs of its cease. Unless…

He motioned his hand, fascinated, slowly to touch the broken surface. His hand became drenched in water. Warm water. From the sea.

"What are you doing?" Came a voice from behind, making Jim Stacey jump with fear. Jim Stacey turned around, surprised to see the richly Dark Elf and his intimidating persona. His face was contorted into a look of questionable bemusement.

"I," Jim Stacey began. "I was looking at this. A leaking." He pointed to the crack in the dark corner.

The Dark Elf furrowed his eye in observation as he groaned in distaste. "I knew something cracked."

Jim Stacey looked at him strangely. "How do you know?"

"I looked outside. Turbulent storms, rough seas. The slaughterfish tend to swim in large schools. They banged against the ship numerous times while everyone was asleep."

"Where were you? Did it wake you up immediately?" Jim Stacey whispered.

"Obviously, yes. I've been laying on my bedroll for the last hour."

Jim Stacey said nothing. He gazed at the mess before him and considered how much of a problem it would become.

"What now?" Asked Jim Stacey, being provoked out of anxiety than of curiosity, hoping to come into some accordance with the Dark Elf. Despite the circumstances, the Dark Elf merely stared at the young Redguard, bereft of emotion and without any consoling word.

"We wait," Said he, rather composedly. "If best."

But all of Jim Stacey's senses had been minimized. He did not hear what was said, but instead sat alert, capturing all hidden sounds as best he could.

The Dark Elf rolled his eyes at the figure before him, "You should go to bed again. This ship won't go down so easily. At least…not yet."

Jim Stacey shot him a discerning eye, sensing the satirical connotation, and genuinely not being pleased by it. "How comforting."

Even after the Dark Elf returned to his spot across the area, Jim Stacey could not force himself to move from his present place. Something, he sensed something, was approaching from underwater like an undetectable looming presence. It came closer, then sped away, as if the object premeditated a course of action, thinking, calculating. It had to be something big, or so Jim Stacey thought, because anything small in size would not have struck such preoccupation, or a sense of wonder, within him. This he deduced, and as he sat still noting these patterns of unseen movement, wondered what he himself should do. He had the urge of waking everyone up, but feared that his preoccupation might seem like an insignificant worry. As fatigue overwhelmed him, he consciously acknowledged that there was nothing better than to drift off to sleep once more.

If the Dark Elf had been so confident, why can't I? Thought Jim Stacey.

He got up as best as his burdened legs could manage and followed the water trail back to his bedroll. As long as he not find himself drowning in water, he'd worry about things later.

Midway into his transition, as if by an unimaginable force so great, a violent jerk caused the ship to rock sideways, causing Jim Stacey to topple over a few of the sleeping bodies before he landed on top of one of Frundihl's men. The tables, chairs, and crates all shifted in a heaping mess to one side, as the lanterns above flickered its last remaining light, leaving the entire hull in an abyss of darkness and confusion.

"What is this?" Roared Frundihl. "Why do I awaken in order to find myself wet and in darkness?"

Jim Stacey shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. The splashing of water around could only mean one thing.

"I should have known." Jim Stacey overheard a voice, the Dark Elf's.

Upon his knees, Jim Stacey felt around the floor with his hands, grasping a hold a dagger left unattended. He shoved it in between his belt, keeping in mind those moments in need of one.

"Argh! Damn you all!" Frundihl yelled, forcing his weight between bodies and knee-deep water. "A light, quickly!"

There was no hesitation to the demand. A travel lamp was lit, which gave off a bluish glow to the moving figures. Shadows danced against the walls in a synchronized frenzy as Frundihl' men, upon seeing the giant hole in the wall, dashed through the water, rummaging through messes and corners in order to save what little belongings were available. Frundihl himself, who had just about tripped over a floating chair, continued to bark unintelligible commands in vain. Jim Stacey stood frozen in his position, mortified. He did not know what to do.

Frundihl, despite his weariness, made his way up the small steps toward the ceiling hatch, which led to the deck. Others followed suit behind him without pausing to consider the dangers the storm beheld. Jim Stacey, too, although being the last one, made his way out. The storm had not yet calmed itself into a moderate downpour, and the skies were still blanketed with the same dull grayness as previously. The spliced rain and winds were like bullets against the skin, keeping Jim Stacey from opening his eyes fully.

The deck was sleek with water. The waves crashed against the side of the ship, spewing ocean water upwardly. The sails, unfastened, flew wildly overhead, as it hit some men to Jim Stacey's side, knocking them overboard.

Then it approached. A large dark shadow swam swiftly in the water, encircling the men who had been thrown overboard. With the blink of an eye, a large tentacle grabbed those who had been trying to swim away and sunk them underwater with no apparent reappearance. This Jim Stacey watched with a horror-stricken face, a sea behemoth feasting on its small prey.

"Alright, men!" Frundihl exclaimed with a battle cry, addressing all those who remained on deck. "We must kill this monster!"

With this, creature protruded its head from underwater, exposing its numerous shiny scales and its slaughterfish-like teeth. Its head snapped back and released itself, coming increasingly closer to the sinking ship. Upon seeing this monster, a few men took several steps back in fear. Jim Stacey, however, grasped his newfound dagger rather embarrassingly, finding that everyone else held more intricate weaponry.

But any weapon is a suitable weapon in battle, he reminded himself.

Poised as any other warrior, Jim Stacey stood his ground alongside everyone else, ready to attack.