Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen on May 16, 2008 11:20:20 GMT -6
High masts, the walls, and a dip in the shore hid the scorched black pieces of the warehouse that had burned down. Long rods had picked apart the skeleton of two ships. Hooks jabbed at drifting refuse, pulling the pollutants, dripping, ash ridden water onto the charred boardwalk. "Look sharp!" one crewman called to another, tossing a long net to a neighboring vessel. The ends were tied to the railing. Men suspended on rope swings helped to push it down into the brine as they moved slowly along, dragging the depths for the dead. The wind made the hinges of the lanterns groan. As they creaked from side to side, the aura of light shifted into languid semi-circles, but in every one, Beathag walked the decks to check progress. "Keep draggin! lower long boats on the other side, rods, row n' prod as long as they jab in." It had been nearing a half year since she'd given deckside commands, or had taken the helm of the ship. Despite the dire purpose that brought to take grasp of the search effort, she couldn't deny the rightness of feeling the wind, listening to it in the sail cloth.
The morning sun tipped down on the water, making diamonds on top of the surface of the calm blue. Gulls soared into a sky, and the scene was as smooth as the surface of a look glass reflection. It was beautiful even in the signs of conflict from the days before. Enemies of Avaria had followed them to Skye only to attack as they were leaving the island. General Maahes had nearly died of a poisoned flesh wound, Ranger Danae had been bitten by the pieces of steel in an explosive. How did the morning look to them from the windows of the castle? Galen was missing among other Avarians. Wrapped in old tarp as a swaddle was the body of Aimlee, half drowned, her legs burned, having taken shelter in a shack that ultimatly sunk into the water when the support gave way. This conflict could not cost Skye valuable resources for it was not their fight. A stream of conscious thought - all of it - disappeared in the light of morning. All the things that would be said or talked about meant nothing in the appearance of the miracle.
A day dawned at sea - emerald eyes drinking in the orb's rise greedily - the heat of it on her skin, licked cool by the salt air. "My Lady, when shall we turn to make port? " Questions broke the spell, and Beathag again returned to the matter at hand, wearing the look the determined possess when the task takes its own sort of hooks into one. " We've hours yet afore mid mornin," she replied, "Ah'll take the wheel, let us put fresh men tae the task as he take tae the coastline, roundin' a few miles out tae sea if the tide churned any tha' way." If they were lucky, perhaps they could pluck a lost soul out of the sea as they clung for life to drift wood remnants of the Avarian warship. "Aye, M'Lady. Shall word be sent back as one of the other boats is rowed into harbor?" She considered that. Thus far, the Castle staff and her own guard would know of taking to the forefront of the search effort, and that Danae had come along, using her own eyes and hands. She drew her lips into a thin line. "Leave word for m'family Ah shall make port mid-morn with more news, m'brother n' sister-by-law." He didn't question why she had come, only doing his duty at her behest. There would be those landshod who questioned her motive, intention or no, protection, supplies, or otherwise. But there was no time for that now.
Through a break in the clouds, rays eminated around her golden hair as the wheel of the ship came to the palm's grip. One would say the gods watched, interested, as the search invoked an almost divine-instilled nature with the sea. Turning the Highland Duchess northeast, baring was made for the destination.
The morning sun tipped down on the water, making diamonds on top of the surface of the calm blue. Gulls soared into a sky, and the scene was as smooth as the surface of a look glass reflection. It was beautiful even in the signs of conflict from the days before. Enemies of Avaria had followed them to Skye only to attack as they were leaving the island. General Maahes had nearly died of a poisoned flesh wound, Ranger Danae had been bitten by the pieces of steel in an explosive. How did the morning look to them from the windows of the castle? Galen was missing among other Avarians. Wrapped in old tarp as a swaddle was the body of Aimlee, half drowned, her legs burned, having taken shelter in a shack that ultimatly sunk into the water when the support gave way. This conflict could not cost Skye valuable resources for it was not their fight. A stream of conscious thought - all of it - disappeared in the light of morning. All the things that would be said or talked about meant nothing in the appearance of the miracle.
A day dawned at sea - emerald eyes drinking in the orb's rise greedily - the heat of it on her skin, licked cool by the salt air. "My Lady, when shall we turn to make port? " Questions broke the spell, and Beathag again returned to the matter at hand, wearing the look the determined possess when the task takes its own sort of hooks into one. " We've hours yet afore mid mornin," she replied, "Ah'll take the wheel, let us put fresh men tae the task as he take tae the coastline, roundin' a few miles out tae sea if the tide churned any tha' way." If they were lucky, perhaps they could pluck a lost soul out of the sea as they clung for life to drift wood remnants of the Avarian warship. "Aye, M'Lady. Shall word be sent back as one of the other boats is rowed into harbor?" She considered that. Thus far, the Castle staff and her own guard would know of taking to the forefront of the search effort, and that Danae had come along, using her own eyes and hands. She drew her lips into a thin line. "Leave word for m'family Ah shall make port mid-morn with more news, m'brother n' sister-by-law." He didn't question why she had come, only doing his duty at her behest. There would be those landshod who questioned her motive, intention or no, protection, supplies, or otherwise. But there was no time for that now.
Through a break in the clouds, rays eminated around her golden hair as the wheel of the ship came to the palm's grip. One would say the gods watched, interested, as the search invoked an almost divine-instilled nature with the sea. Turning the Highland Duchess northeast, baring was made for the destination.