by Derek Morris

Created on: June 03, 2009

From my work in progress: Jarl's Tale

Waves crashed against the side of the small ship, and water dashed over the edges of the railing. The ship rocked with each wave, and as the small ship struggled to get upright, it would be hit again by the next wave, in an endless series of attacks.

So much water. thought Jarl, as he stood on the deck, riding the storm out. He preferred to be on the deck, to see what was coming for him, rather then stay below, and be struck by a sudden death he was not prepared for. He gathered the oiled cloak he had been given by one of the ships crew, but found it to be small protection from water that seemed to come at him from all directions at once.

The ships crew moved about at a deliberate pace, tying down boxes as they came loose, and yelling back and forth that this storm was nothing, You should have seen the storm in the summer of 43! one would say, with the next man telling his tale of storms and rough seas, each trying to out tell the other. Jarl was impressed by none of it. He had seen much in his life, a warrior's life where everyday hung in the balance each time you picked up your axe. Fate was not the master of your destiny, but a piece of life that you shaped each day you lived.

Jarl was in an element that he had never envisioned himself in, and he did not like it. The deck below him surged with each wave, threatening to send him to the ocean with each rise and fall. He watched the deckhands as they worked around him, surefooted without missing a step as he swayed and staggered just trying to walk a straight line. He hoped to glimpse the secret to their sure footedness, but he resigned himself to the fact that it was something that only time could give him, time he was not willing to give, as he vowed this would be his last journey on a ship.

In fact this was his first ocean journey on this accursed ship. He had sworn long ago that it would take a pretty powerful reason for him to abandon the stability of dry land to get on one of these wooden death traps floating on the open currents of the seas. He had taken passage on small boats to cross a river or lake now and then, but these larger ocean going vessels where another story.

Now, clutching his cape closed against another spray of the ocean with one hand, his other clutching the deck railing, he swore that when they passed from this storm, he would have words with the Captain that promised him an easy journey to Mage's Isle. If the captain thought it funny to tell the land lovers that this was easy, his humor would need adjusting.

Jarl decided to head below deck, as all he could do up here was get mad, curse the winds, and soak his clothing down to his socks, and he could do all that except getting wet in his own cabin. Death could find as easily down there as up on the deck he decided, so he tried to lie down in his cot. The constant motion made that as comfortable as laying on a horse at full gallop, so he sat on the edge his bed, and decided to ride the storm out there watching and waiting for death's shadowy form to come through the door to collect him.

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