• Solo • Plucked From the Sea

From Tried's Mouth to the mysterious Tower, the waters around Scalvoris and the island itself hold a vast array of secrets, just ripe for discovery. Here are landmarks, jungles, mountains, forests and islands of note.

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Max
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Posts: 1110
Joined: Mon Nov 06, 2017 4:53 am
Race: Mixed Race
Renown: 950
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Plucked From the Sea

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17 Vhalar 720


Time had passed and yet not a single trial had gone by.

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Many Trials Before...

A sudden jolt and a smack to the head roused the water-logged woman from the peaceful nothingness of unconsciousness. Her face contorted with a brief wince and a second violent rock nearly pitched her forward. Her eyes peeled open and blinked, seeing nothing but grim darkness at first.

Dead?

No. Of course not. She could never get so lucky. After a couple moments, her vision did adjust to the world around her, which smelled of salt-worn wood, must, and human waste. Her nose pinched. Another swell smashed into the vessel, rocking her world and the floor beneath her. The ship groaned under the shove from the sea and metal chains hissed along the boards. Her head slowly moved toward the sound of that scraping metal, and panic rose in waves rivaling that of the churning sea outside.

Shackles?!

Not hanging tools but accessories on her explained the origin of the rattling links. She lifted her arms to find the metal bindings tightly clasped about her wrists and ankles. Pain crashed into her immediately. She leaned back, face twisted as understanding slowly rushed back into her brain. Memories flooded back to join with logic and sensation, providing the agonizing details that explained this new reality.

Curse. Faldrass. Nir'wei. Volcano.

All of it came back in pointed, quick flashes of recollection. She remembered the rain, the shadows, the plunging blade into her frame. Her imprisoned hands flashed down to her torso. A thick wrapping covered the aching wound site. Max ran her hands through her salt-dried hair. Her Diri, the call for destruction, and the fury of the mountain. She remembered all of it. The very last thing she gathered before waking in this ship's hold was hitting the water of the sea. She'd been swimming, but where? Back to the island where the mansion was? Toward an escape while everyone was distracted? Her shoulders fell.

Kura...

She saw the walls of the mansion collapse. Her Diri had caused the explosion. The flood she called peeled earth from the mountain in a rage that reeved the land below. Could anyone have gotten out of there alive? Did the volcano blow its top and leave Scalvoris naught but a crater in the sea? Her arms dropped defeated in her lap. Her head dropped back against the hard wooden wall of the ship. Her teeth bit into her chapped lower lip.

She's dead, isn't she? She didn't get out.

Another slap of furious waves harassed her seaworthy prison. This time it did pitch her forth, spitting her into her small cell on hands and knees. Lightning shrieked and vibrated through the wooden chamber. Whatever raged outside was nothing in comparison to the volatile turbulence within the Rusalka. Defeat. Self-hatred. Fury. Grief. All of those emotions and more that had no name warred together on too small of a battlefield.

If her deduction was in fact true, that could only mean one thing. She was not only imprisoned, but on her way to Rharne. Back there to her.

Fuck.

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Present Trial…

Maxine had grown accustomed to the sea now. She’d grown accustomed to a lot of things actually. The rocking of the boat felt more natural than a trek on solid land. A bustle of familiar, constant faces replaced that of the endless stream of people she became loosely acquainted with in a city. The cool touch of the metal shackles that rested firmly shut around her wrists barely registered. This was her life now.

Some trials the Rusalka forgot what she was. She forgot the whisper of a chaotic, destructive spirit in her ear. The marks, both curses and blessings, had become as vapid on her flesh as they were silent. Life and ability had been rendered almost entirely mundane. There were some trials where she remembered what it was like before. It wasn’t really that long ago that she could ever really forget. Not that quickly, even as hard as she thought to try. It was almost nice though. For at least some breaks at a time she could resign herself to the place she was now.

"A'right!" The First Mate shouted, lantern swinging in his hand as he made his way below deck. "Y'know the time! Up! Up!" Collective groans and grumbles filled the woody chamber of the ships' underbelly, which only popped a vein in the First Mate's forehead. "Shite! Ya lazy and whiny as me crew now?" He hung the lantern up noisily on a hook, gently illuminating the quarters he roused from sleep. "More whinging an' I'll get youse somethin' to whinge about!" Metal cages creaked open after a brief rattling of keys. "Line up! Head out!"

Maxine leaned against the wall and rode it to stand. The chains connecting her wrists swung and hissed their protest, but so did the other dozen shackles of the others. She glanced toward the corner of her shared cage and sighed. At some point the bucket came off the wooden splinter she'd looped the handle over, and spilled onto the deck. Someone would be cleaning that later once the upper deck was taken care of, and the odds weren't in her favor as far as passing the responsibility off. It would be cleaned, or they'd be suffering the waste sliding about their floors where they slept.

This was the type of morning when she wished she could flail her hand sidelong from the bed, fish along a sticky nightstand, and find a bottle of some putrid alcohol to suck down before truly facing the day. She exhaled a silent laugh at the thought. Alcohol in the quantities she wanted was far harder to come by than when she was just a child squatting in an Etzos alleyway. The deprivation hadn't tempered her moods.
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Many Trials Before…

Wild, base instinct type of panic seized her at the speed her spinning mind raced. Maxine keeled forward, wrenching in violent vain at her sturdy confines. The caged quarters of the ship hull were filled with an industrious, talentless percussion of rattling shackles and metal pounding on wood. Every fiber in her body seemed to ache, but sheer will fueled her honest performance. It was all to no avail.

No! I will not go!

Bracing the deck on all fours, she could feel the full, rapid rise and fall of her chest. The walls were falling in on her, the deck rising up to meet her, and somehow the darkness of night and shadow felt intent on swallowing her whole. No. She would not go. She would not be confined and shipped to Rharne. Before she faced what laid on those familiar shores, she’d bid the sea to tear this vessel asunder.

So she did.

At least, she tried to.

All that anger, hate, and desperation swelled and reached for the blessing of Chrien to capsize and demolish the ship in a watery wrath. She’d done it so many times before it should’ve been easy. Her body tensed but the intensity of the swells didn’t change to answer her call.

Nothing happened at all.

Her brow furrowed. She tried it again, focusing all that grudging might to will the seas to rise and crush the ship, rendering it to driftwood and freeing her from its hold. The rhythm of the ocean did not intensify in her favor. Her fingers clenched into knuckle-white fists and she grit her teeth. She shook her head and focused on the wind instead. Surely it would not abandon her. Within trills it would turn the ship to splinters, rising to a howling gale when she reached out for it. Call Maxine did. The wind, like the sea, did not respond. The whirling storm still raged on her flesh but she could not feel the connection at all.

Fuck!

Max lifted her shackled wrists up toward her eyes. She didn't need to see to understand what they were now. She'd worn them before. This severance was painfully known. Her confines were designed to control and diminish people with her abilities. She was trapped and powerless. She was alone. Her clenched fists slammed down violently against the floor. The ship moaned a precarious rock. Lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating her cage. Maxine emptied her lungs in a rage-filled shriek in time with a crack of roaring thunder.

”Huh,” an astute female voice rose from the darkness. ”You’re awake.” Maxine’s frenzy froze. She squinted her eyes through the blackness, searching for more than the silhouette she saw looming from a cage adjacent to her own.

"How long have I been out?” Maxine managed to force the sentence out of her impossibly dried mouth. Her voice was so strangled, so hoarse, she hardly recognized it as her own.
”Three trials,” the stranger answered concretely. ”Lucky one you are, too. I was there when they plucked you from the sea. So far out, you were, no one is quite sure how you were alive.”
"Yeah,” Max laughed, but it came as more of a growl. "Lucky me.” She crawled her way to the metal bars that separated her from the speaker. "When do we get to Rharne then?"
"Rharne?"
"That's where we're going, isn't it?"
"Oh, no. We have some stops to make. A few more places to trade with. Then I imagine they'll be selling us off. Y'know. Don't want too many of us dyin' before they can make a profit."
"Sell?"
"You haven't put it together yet? Life truly is so bitter sweet..."
"Speak plainly."
"You're a slave now, girl."
"You've gotta be shitting me." Maxine wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or resume her tirade. She ran a hand down her face. The stranger merely watched in pensive silence while she took it in. "A slave to who?"
"Whoever saves your life twice. Either they'll get a price for you, or they'll consider you a lost cause and gut you. I overheard them talking." The stranger shrugged and wrung her own shackled wrists. "You're a problem. A liability. If the captain wasn't superstitious about the wrath of Chrien, you would've been tossed back where they found you."
"A shame he didn’t anyways.”
”So grim for someone so blessed. Your goddess seems to have plans for you yet.”

Maxine scoffed and sat back against the bars of the cage. Another crack of lightning rang out, and in the briefest flicker of that electric might, the enslaved woman caught sight of what appeared to be fresh ink reaching down one of her arms. Her brow knit. Memories were still replaying in her head, but not one of them included receiving a tattoo. She extended her arm out in front of her. The dim light that filtered down through the floorboards illuminated an octopus tentacle twisting around her bicep, reaching toward the inside of her wrist. It had appeared miraculously on its own.

Just like the whirling cyclone on her torso.

Or the image of a collar clasped about her throat.

Chrien might've spared her for some purpose, but she feared Famula reveled in her survival against all odds so that she might be doomed to serve.

Jokes on you, Captain Dickhead. I'm already someone else's slave.

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Present Trial…

As Maxine followed the painfully slow cadence of their chain gang as it trudged up the stairs, she started to wonder how long she'd been afloat. Every trial had been agonizingly identical. The same grumpy orders, same choirs, and same stink hanging off the same bodies. The Rusalka inhaled a long, appreciative breath as the salty, fresh air hit her. The sunlight followed suit though, forcing her to squint her eyes the closer she came to the top deck.

"Hut, two-tree-fo'!" The First Mate barked at them, waving the collection of sentient property on. "No wastin' the trial! Get to!"

Other free deck hands were lazily going about their business. A few of them flashed relieved looks as they watched the enslaved appear, and most of the work paused at the very sight. Shouts erupted quickly after and slaves answered their calls. Work was pawned off in no time and Maxine was no exception to the labor. Her calloused, torn hands grasped the rigging held out to her. She took it firmly, wrapping it around one arm before the heaving started.

The mast began to rise higher and higher until the unfurling sail masked the intensity of the sunrise. Maxine's muscles strained as she held her position, and another chained took her end of the rope and began to tie it off tight. They nodded at one another but that was all the acknowledgement given. It was on to the new task. Her body protested with its sore limbs, dehydrated skin, and lethargic energy. She knew better than to stop. To stop was to starve and to starve was to die. If nothing else she was determined not to die in chains.

"You!" The First Mate yelped out, jabbing a finger toward the Rusalka. Max stopped and turned toward him, expressionless. He huffed and folded his arms. "'Fraid of heights?" The cursed woman raised a brow at him. The First Mate threw up his hands. "Well?! Are ye?!"
"Dunno," her answer was monotone. "Guess not."
"Yer up then!"
"For what?"
"Snag!" The First Mate pointed a crooked finger toward the foremast. "Top sail ain't right. See?"

Max turned to follow where the sailor was pointing. Sure enough the top sail was only half unfurled, the rest was bunched up on a section of rope that failed to loosen. She pressed her lips into a hard line. Shackled wrists raised in front of her, chain rattling as she gave them a shake.

"You want me to climb up without my hands?" she asked.
"Fresh this mern', huh?" The First Mate chewed his lip and gave her a shove toward the foremast. Max rolled her eyes and followed the gesture, wandering slowly toward the bow of the ship with The First Mate just behind her. She came to a halt just below the problem. Her eyes stared at the challenge and then at the impossible hindrance around her wrists. That's when The First Mate yanked one of her hands toward his and jammed a key in the hole of the shackle.

No way...

Max looked from the key to The First Mate incredulously. Her left wrist snapped free and the iron fell. Immediately she flexed her hand into a fist, sighing softly at the absence of the weight. The First Mate grabbed her right hand and soon that one too was liberated. The shackles clattered to the floor. A few of the other enslaved glanced over with wide eyes. The Rusalka blinked dumbly.

"Well?" The First Mate slipped the key back in his pocket. "Get yer ass up there! Go! Shoo!"

Max stared at him as he wandered away to go badger someone else under his thumb. She rubbed at her chaffed wrists, glanced around the crowded deck, and then out toward the open ocean. She wasn't sure what kind of idiot The First Mate had turned into that morning, but she'd be a fool to complain. She was free. In a few strides she could dive into the water if she needed to and hide until the ship had vanished on the horizon. It was a terrible plan, but it was nice to know that level of liberty was on the table.

Max walked toward the edge of the ship and reached for the ratlines. Without another thought she started up the lines toward the foremast. It took more intent than she thought to convince her body to carry on. The lines rocked back and forth and she shook a little as she tried to balance her own weight. The higher she moved up the ropes the more it dawned on her that maybe she didn't exactly love heights after all. She pressed on anyways until she was at the top.

She reached a hand out toward the foremast to hold herself steady. Her eyes looked over the lines and the sails, beyond the ship and toward the shining surface of the glittering sea. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face. She felt the wind in her hair and the salt in the breaths she took. Then her eyes locked on the rolling, gentle swells of the ocean under the brig.

The Rusalka closed her eyes and reached toward that place within her she knew all too well. She thought of the image of the sea turned angry, rising and churning as though her ire were alive. The motion of the brig didn't change. Maxine opened her eyes and furrowed her brow. The ocean remained tranquil and gentle.

The shackles are off. I don't understand...

She shook her head, blinking and searching her wrists for an explanation. All she found were tan lines were the shackles used to be.

How is that possible?

Chrien had not abandoned her. She could feel the connection faintly. It was there, wild and raging on her skin and in her psyche. Spite still flowed through her veins like her very blood.

Then it hit her.

She was never in the sort of shackles that disconnected her from her blessings. She was always free to use her abilities. The only severance had to be in her own mind. Somehow, for some reason, she was prohibiting her own power.

And then, just as this revelation began to dawn on her, she vanished from the ship altogether without a trace.

word count: 2999
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Avalon
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Joined: Tue Dec 15, 2020 8:23 pm
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Re: Plucked From the Sea

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Review & Rewards

Name: Max

Points awarded: 10 - Awarded via new tracking system

Knowledge:
Psychology: Mental Blocks
Seafaring: How to Use Ratlines
Seafaring: How to Raise the Sail
Seafaring: Fixing the Rigging
Strength: Pulling Heavy Ropes
Strength: Using Grip Strength to Hold a Weighted Rope In Place

Renown: N/A

Skill Review: Appropriate to level.

Notes:
I arrived on ST after the events of Faldrass that Max thinks about, but I know enough to fully appreciate this piece of the story. Max's continuing journey seems to be an interesting on, but as I've noted before with other pcs, Faldrass changed a lot of people's lives. It seems this is very true for Max as well.

I enjoyed the look inside Max's brain and understanding how she feels about what happened. It seems that she harbors some remorse, but not only that, those feelings prompt further reflection on her state and current predicament. She's got herself into quite a pickle, it seem!

I think this piece is a great transition and effective bridge between those earlier events and being plucked to Zuudaria. Well done!


Avalon


word count: 188
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