Vhalar 45th 721
A Wandering calm had claimed the Onyx Cascade in its gentle grip while pursuing prey on the high waters of the Orm'del Sea. They'd been caught in the calm for a few breaks now, lingering on the open waters. He felt only a slight unease as they rested on the waters, but figured they'd better catch what they could while stuck on the calm, lest they starve. Besieged by a calm, it was a strange notion, yet one he could understand on some level. Tales were told, largely by Mastrel, of wandering calms that had claimed entire fleets and starved them out, or allowed enemies to catch up with them. The sea was full of stories of fortune or misfortune, lures for the foolish and adventurous. Rorom never thought himself to be etiher of those things, he was just trying to make a living the only way he knew how.
Nevertheless, as he got into the fishing, having brought up some fish already he went back, hard at it, twisting his rod as he tried to bring in a rather large fish. Mastrel was behind him, egging him on, as if the old cripple had nothing better to do, like fix the central mast to make sure it was properly set in its moorings. Sometimes Rorom missed the isolation of the open seas, time spent alone at it. But he also recognized that he needed a crew now more than ever. Running a larger ship was a mixed blessing.
"Oy yer got a big ole bastard on the line now, son!" Mastrel cackled as he watched Rorom twisting his rod slowly but surely, bringing in the catch of the day. Something felt strange in the water, as if there were other creatures watching. The waters whispered of motion within it, which spoke to a multitude of bodies. He frowned, even as the fish got closer to the surface. It was a large fish, and Rorom wasn't confident in his strength to lift it on his own.
"On me lads! I need two men on the rod to help drag it up, ready the nets!" Rorom shouted in Rakahi, at his men. They swiftly went into action, aiding him on the rod, supporting it while he twisted its line around the length. The struggle was torturous, or would have been more so had Rorom not the help of his men's added strength. Yet with a great effort the team was able to pull the great sturgeon out of its watery habitat, resting it in a net and pulling it aboard. There was a great flailing as the fish died, its breath dying down as it ran out of air. Rorom's attention was caught by the size of the thing, and a compulsion gripped him. The shape of the fish came with a compulsion. To harvest its sovereign substances and build a fine totem.
"Right, I'll take care of this one, men." Rorom spoke to the others, "Back to your stations. You too Mastrel."
Mastrel stood by, a big grin on his face as he beheld the huge fish his captain had picked out of the water. Yet, he didn't move. He merely stood by and watched as Rorom got to butchering the beast. Not a bit of the sturgeon would go to waste. There was a delicacy, the caviar of the sturgeon that would sell well in Viden, if he managed to preserve its caviar well enough. As for the rest, it'd make good eating, and good for a totem.
Rorom's eyes shone with fascination as he pulled parts of the animal that he would need for that effort. The swim bladder for its ability to be rendered into glue, the ichor of the eyes for lifeforce, and scales for visage. These would go together, in the creation of a totem, from it's bones which served to provide a structure.
Thus he got to work, making a totem from these substances after the cuts of meat were set aside for preservationn or cooking.
