Shisha
05-25-09, 10:39 PM
The Pier was crowed as the three ships prepared to set sail. People gathered excited along the three long wooden piers, their weight barely sustained by the precarious platform. They gathered near the three ships, sometimes venturing to touch with their hard work-spoiled hands the hulk of the vessels. It was a rare event, something beyond the ordinary, and the good folk of Port Bay wanted to form part of it. They were been witness of history in the making, of things worth been recorded in legend.
Lord Vaolmar descended the stone stairs that reached the pier with meditated slowness. He was savoring each second of his glory, recording the moment in his mind. The crowd felt silent, no doubt awed of their hero. He was departing in an adventure, a quest to get rids of pirates that dwell beyond the bay. Vaolmar was, in the eyes of the crowd, justice in flesh, the sword that will cut in two and bury those bandits of the sea.
The crowd cleared a thin path which Vaolmar used to reach the plank of Gust, the biggest, and far more impressive, of the three ships at his disposal. Vaolmar spared a few minutes to talk to some of the villagers. They greeted him with smiles and tears, some even bending a knee in recognition. Vaolmar saluted each in turn, sometimes extending a gloved hand, other simply nodding. It took him some minutes to actually reach the deck of the ship. He turned, filled his lungs of air, and proclaimed:
“Good people of Port Bay and beyond! I, Lord Vaolmar, heavenly chosen to scourge the land and sea of evil, will, humbly accepting his majesty King Yue command, seek and destroy those pirates that infest the sea. I seek not personal glory, nor expect any reward. My only guide is my deep sense of honor and duty. Fear not! For I will purge this evil infection!”
The crowd went wild with excitement. Some even volunteered to join the expedition, totally sure of its success. Vaolmar welcomed each and every one of them into his ships, assigning them some minor tasks. The momentum passed, Vaolmar ordered his flag ship to set sail, accompanied by the other two ships. Soon the wooden vessels were deep into the sea, leaving behind the vague figure of Port Bay at the distance.
Shisha watched as Port Bay became a small black dot in the horizon. How Lord Vaolmar had managed to dispatch so many ships, along with their sailors, and load the vessels with one hundred twenty one crack troops Shisha couldn’t begin to phantom. The man was practically ruined, his title nothing more than a name written in a piece of paper. Somehow he managed to convince someone in court to give him complete command of the expedition. He knew, Shisha suspected, that this was his big last chance. He could plunder the pirate’s encampment, take everything worth the effort, and claim the honor of “purging” the sea of vandals. It was a sound plan, correctly executed, and accurately planned. The tides of the court shifted easily, and a secure position one day could become unstable the other. The good old Lord Voalmar still had some cunning left in him to actually expand his influence in the court. Shisha smiled despite everything.
Shisha still felt unease about himself. He was an Ishikitai. A god, yes; but only in essence. He was assuming mortal flesh in the shape of a vessel, a boy barely able to be catalogued as a man. And yet, Shisha felt the essence deep inside him yearning to grow, yearning to become complete.
It amazed Shisha how he had grasped the political movement of Lord Vaolmar. It felt so easy, almost a childish game; predictable. Somehow he knew Vaolmar intentions right from the beginning, and took advantage from it. Shisha had no clear explanation of why he chose to become part in the expedition. It was a rash decision, an action which originated in his spirit rather than in his mind. Before he could even grasp the meaning of what he was doing – or to what he was committing too – Shisha found himself on Palanti’s deck, one of Voalmar lesser ships.
And as the ship danced between the waves, trying to catch a favorable wind towards East, Shisha pondered in his past decisions.
--------------------------------------------------------
It was the third day of travel. The general mood of the crew, which began with the highest morale possible, felt now rather tense. Sailors muttered to themselves while they mastered the ship, sometimes eyeing suspiciously behind their backs, as if expecting some unknown enemy. Soldiers, which owed their fealty to Lord Vaolmar, and whom boosted and praised their deeds on the first days of travel, were now silent, distant, ominous. Even Lord Vaolmar, a solid wall of determination, showed the firsts signs of frustration and dismay. He barked orders out of nowhere, applying martial law when he felt his command was not been obeyed. Three public executions had already taken place, one involving a certain captain close to Voalmar.
Shisha wondered what would be of the expedition. Why, for heaven’s sake, were these men, accustom to hardships, so terrified? It was true, Shisha agreed, that pirates had some knowledge of the movement of the sea, and can prove to be a powerful enemy if given the means to roam freely. But one thing is to fight an organized army, composed out of discipline, and completely another matter is to attack a bunch of vandals crowed on wooden vessels. Was there, then, another explanation to this could – be fiasco? Was there something else?
The sound of a distant thunder woke Shisha out of his thoughts. He turned around and saw, a few miles to the west, ominous dark clouds battling in the sky. Thunders roamed the sky in every direction, their echo announcing the arrival of a powerful storm. Soon enough the wind took force, becoming a powerful cold gust. Sailors ran about in apparent chaos, sometimes stumbling with some terrified passenger. The captains of the ships ordered the sails brought down and the oars deployed, but it was already too late. Waves caressed the hulk of the ships with such force that keeping balance on deck became difficult. One, then three, then seven; many soldiers fell into the sea, their pleas for help nothing but a passing irritation.
The sun was quickly covered under a mantle of black wool. Resembling fingers of a forgotten titan, the nimbuses fought for supremacy on the skies. It was a battle with all the odds on their favor. Soon the complete sky fell under the tyrannical whip of the invader. Day became night.
The ships battled against the tides and currents as best they could. Captains yelled unheard orders to a crowd that seemed more interested in keeping both feet on deck. Shisha could barely comprehend the madness that enveloped him. He clutched against some cargo, just to been thrown through the deck like some fish just taken from the water. He was soaked in rain and sweat, coughing sea water in an attempt to bring some fresh air to his lungs.
Suddenly Gust, the flag ship, the most imposing ship from the modest horde that sailed three days ago, leaned dangerously to one side. Shisha saw the crew of the ship holding desperately to anything they could find as the ship sunk into the depths of the sea. Following that instant a terrible sound announced the death of the third ship. Shisha saw as its hulk was cut in two by the force of the elements. It was a scene taken out from the imagination a perturbed man, death and madness materializing into salt, water and rain.
Shisha understood, before the wave hit him, that his doom was just breaths away. He fell to one side, hit the edge of the deck, and sprawled like a dead corpse into the sea. Cold water, colder than anything he ever felt, welcomed him. It was the sweet kiss of death, the sentence carried by the executioner.
Shisha trashed in every direction, but there seemed to way out of the water. There was no way to distinguish up from down, left from right. His lungs ached for air, but there was simply no place to go, no apparent escape. He felt something that held his foot. It was a soldier’s last chance as he was been carried down to the depths by the weight of his armor. His face showed complete comprehension of the reason of his fate. Yet he clutched to that foot with his life, until Shisha felt the fingers slipping away into darkness.
And yet, as the world became a dark place, Shisha could only think of a city he remembered from what seemed a strange dream, but which he had never visited. Its walls were of white marble, and its fountains sprayed water up into the sky…
Lord Vaolmar descended the stone stairs that reached the pier with meditated slowness. He was savoring each second of his glory, recording the moment in his mind. The crowd felt silent, no doubt awed of their hero. He was departing in an adventure, a quest to get rids of pirates that dwell beyond the bay. Vaolmar was, in the eyes of the crowd, justice in flesh, the sword that will cut in two and bury those bandits of the sea.
The crowd cleared a thin path which Vaolmar used to reach the plank of Gust, the biggest, and far more impressive, of the three ships at his disposal. Vaolmar spared a few minutes to talk to some of the villagers. They greeted him with smiles and tears, some even bending a knee in recognition. Vaolmar saluted each in turn, sometimes extending a gloved hand, other simply nodding. It took him some minutes to actually reach the deck of the ship. He turned, filled his lungs of air, and proclaimed:
“Good people of Port Bay and beyond! I, Lord Vaolmar, heavenly chosen to scourge the land and sea of evil, will, humbly accepting his majesty King Yue command, seek and destroy those pirates that infest the sea. I seek not personal glory, nor expect any reward. My only guide is my deep sense of honor and duty. Fear not! For I will purge this evil infection!”
The crowd went wild with excitement. Some even volunteered to join the expedition, totally sure of its success. Vaolmar welcomed each and every one of them into his ships, assigning them some minor tasks. The momentum passed, Vaolmar ordered his flag ship to set sail, accompanied by the other two ships. Soon the wooden vessels were deep into the sea, leaving behind the vague figure of Port Bay at the distance.
Shisha watched as Port Bay became a small black dot in the horizon. How Lord Vaolmar had managed to dispatch so many ships, along with their sailors, and load the vessels with one hundred twenty one crack troops Shisha couldn’t begin to phantom. The man was practically ruined, his title nothing more than a name written in a piece of paper. Somehow he managed to convince someone in court to give him complete command of the expedition. He knew, Shisha suspected, that this was his big last chance. He could plunder the pirate’s encampment, take everything worth the effort, and claim the honor of “purging” the sea of vandals. It was a sound plan, correctly executed, and accurately planned. The tides of the court shifted easily, and a secure position one day could become unstable the other. The good old Lord Voalmar still had some cunning left in him to actually expand his influence in the court. Shisha smiled despite everything.
Shisha still felt unease about himself. He was an Ishikitai. A god, yes; but only in essence. He was assuming mortal flesh in the shape of a vessel, a boy barely able to be catalogued as a man. And yet, Shisha felt the essence deep inside him yearning to grow, yearning to become complete.
It amazed Shisha how he had grasped the political movement of Lord Vaolmar. It felt so easy, almost a childish game; predictable. Somehow he knew Vaolmar intentions right from the beginning, and took advantage from it. Shisha had no clear explanation of why he chose to become part in the expedition. It was a rash decision, an action which originated in his spirit rather than in his mind. Before he could even grasp the meaning of what he was doing – or to what he was committing too – Shisha found himself on Palanti’s deck, one of Voalmar lesser ships.
And as the ship danced between the waves, trying to catch a favorable wind towards East, Shisha pondered in his past decisions.
--------------------------------------------------------
It was the third day of travel. The general mood of the crew, which began with the highest morale possible, felt now rather tense. Sailors muttered to themselves while they mastered the ship, sometimes eyeing suspiciously behind their backs, as if expecting some unknown enemy. Soldiers, which owed their fealty to Lord Vaolmar, and whom boosted and praised their deeds on the first days of travel, were now silent, distant, ominous. Even Lord Vaolmar, a solid wall of determination, showed the firsts signs of frustration and dismay. He barked orders out of nowhere, applying martial law when he felt his command was not been obeyed. Three public executions had already taken place, one involving a certain captain close to Voalmar.
Shisha wondered what would be of the expedition. Why, for heaven’s sake, were these men, accustom to hardships, so terrified? It was true, Shisha agreed, that pirates had some knowledge of the movement of the sea, and can prove to be a powerful enemy if given the means to roam freely. But one thing is to fight an organized army, composed out of discipline, and completely another matter is to attack a bunch of vandals crowed on wooden vessels. Was there, then, another explanation to this could – be fiasco? Was there something else?
The sound of a distant thunder woke Shisha out of his thoughts. He turned around and saw, a few miles to the west, ominous dark clouds battling in the sky. Thunders roamed the sky in every direction, their echo announcing the arrival of a powerful storm. Soon enough the wind took force, becoming a powerful cold gust. Sailors ran about in apparent chaos, sometimes stumbling with some terrified passenger. The captains of the ships ordered the sails brought down and the oars deployed, but it was already too late. Waves caressed the hulk of the ships with such force that keeping balance on deck became difficult. One, then three, then seven; many soldiers fell into the sea, their pleas for help nothing but a passing irritation.
The sun was quickly covered under a mantle of black wool. Resembling fingers of a forgotten titan, the nimbuses fought for supremacy on the skies. It was a battle with all the odds on their favor. Soon the complete sky fell under the tyrannical whip of the invader. Day became night.
The ships battled against the tides and currents as best they could. Captains yelled unheard orders to a crowd that seemed more interested in keeping both feet on deck. Shisha could barely comprehend the madness that enveloped him. He clutched against some cargo, just to been thrown through the deck like some fish just taken from the water. He was soaked in rain and sweat, coughing sea water in an attempt to bring some fresh air to his lungs.
Suddenly Gust, the flag ship, the most imposing ship from the modest horde that sailed three days ago, leaned dangerously to one side. Shisha saw the crew of the ship holding desperately to anything they could find as the ship sunk into the depths of the sea. Following that instant a terrible sound announced the death of the third ship. Shisha saw as its hulk was cut in two by the force of the elements. It was a scene taken out from the imagination a perturbed man, death and madness materializing into salt, water and rain.
Shisha understood, before the wave hit him, that his doom was just breaths away. He fell to one side, hit the edge of the deck, and sprawled like a dead corpse into the sea. Cold water, colder than anything he ever felt, welcomed him. It was the sweet kiss of death, the sentence carried by the executioner.
Shisha trashed in every direction, but there seemed to way out of the water. There was no way to distinguish up from down, left from right. His lungs ached for air, but there was simply no place to go, no apparent escape. He felt something that held his foot. It was a soldier’s last chance as he was been carried down to the depths by the weight of his armor. His face showed complete comprehension of the reason of his fate. Yet he clutched to that foot with his life, until Shisha felt the fingers slipping away into darkness.
And yet, as the world became a dark place, Shisha could only think of a city he remembered from what seemed a strange dream, but which he had never visited. Its walls were of white marble, and its fountains sprayed water up into the sky…