90 Vhalar 722
Port Diablo
It had long been said that time heals all wounds.
In Pyrre’s case, it was more like an anaesthetic.
The flux of emotions he had experienced since being cursed by Chrien had slowly grown more and more subdued as one trial bled into the next. The mark had continued to wrest control from the Biqaj, robbing him of the agency he had so desperately fought to maintain, that now, a cycle and a half into this nightmare, his resolve had nearly been ground to dust, leaving nothing more than numbness and apathy in its wake.
So, when waking to see water in the very place it was not meant to be, stirring and moving in lazy motions that caused it to give passing, gentle caresses to the inner walls of his cabin, the first thing he felt was not panic or alarm but simply acceptance. Yet another thing to add to the long list of things that had become a regular part of his miserable existence.
He sighed heavily before the urgency of the matter at hand finally saw him shoot out of bed, a slew of Rahaki curses pouring from his mouth.
He moved mechanically once he finally rose to address the newest inconvenience, going through the motions of fishing out anything of importance from the just-shy-of-ankle-deep water and moving it somewhere high so said items could have a chance to dry if they weren’t already ruined. Each action punctuated by a colourful curse at his miserable lot in life. He had opted to leave his prosthesis off since there were more pressing matters to see to - plus, he wagered the salty water of the docks that now found itself within the hull of his ship would not be kind to his wooden peg leg. So, instead, he hopped about on his left foot, using the narrow interior of the cabin to his advantage and the walls and sparse furnishings as support when necessary.
It was during this retrieval and salvage effort that he discovered a small false panel near the foot of his bunk that, when pushed against, gave way to a hidden compartment. There was no resistance and must have been of poor quality in construction since all it took was an unintended nudge for it to crack open, yet Pyrre had never noticed it. Then again, Pyrre hadn’t exactly paid much attention to the majority of things within the ship.
"The fuck-" he muttered curiously in Rahaki once he finally realised the panel could be removed and he internally scrutinised both himself and the ship's previous owner for this oversight. Within, he uncovered equally poor navigational and cartography suppliesstarting package skill kits, most of which had gotten wet, and hastily shuffled them onto his bed, where he laid them spaced out in a bid to dry them out and save what he could. He suspected the paper items were ruined - if they had even been decent in the first place, but he hoped some items were salvageable.
Once everything he could find had been scooped up and relocated, he began to consider how to get the water out and back in the sea where it belonged. He figured there had to be a leak; knowing his cursed luck, there would be multiple as just one would be an unlikely kindness.
Granted, it wasn’t uncommon for leaks to happen on ships; the hull was often the buffer between the ship and the elements and, as such, damage was expected. The more significant the damage, the more likely it was that the structural integrity of the ship would be affected. However, Pyrre’s ship had done more sitting in the port than sailing and the Biqaj strongly suspected whatever damage had been done was likely extramundane in nature.
- It didn’t help that he’d barely lifted a finger to maintain the equally miserable and cursed vessel.
He knew he could try and shift the water with a pail or bucket but, as he had none and wasn’t sure he wanted to run the risk of ‘borrowing’ one of the many he often saw around the docks, he did not see that as a viable option. Plus, if the hull was, indeed, compromised like he thought, then no amount of bailing would stop more water from coming in. He came to the very solid conclusion that he would need to find a way to get the ship out of the sea. But this posed a number of challenges. Was it possible to get a ship out of water on his own? Would a ship with the amount of water the Shiver currently held be sailable?
He recalled how his clan had managed any hull and keel damage during his time aboard the Meridian’s Beacon. Usually, the ship would be carefully sailed into the shallows to be careened since damages were more likely to occur while at sea and far from any port and self-sufficiency was key to survival. Other times, they utilised haul-out services provided within the shipyards - but that was often reserved for general maintenance. The former option was riskier and akin to running the ship aground but it did have the added bonus of being free. The latter also heavily depended on how busy the shipyards were.
Pyrre did not have the time nor the coin to seek professional assistance. He had neither the crew nor the experience of sailing a sloop single-handedly in shallows - he barely had the skill to even get it through the port to berth. Due to how reluctant and reticent he had been to sail the very thing that had been the setting for his clash with Chrien, he was woefully unfamiliar with how the sloop sailed, let alone if it was even still seaworthy. But he’d have to manage on his own - and as quickly as possible lest the stricken vessel he called his home be lost to Chrien’s watery realm.
It was a bit ironic, considering there had been a time when he had wanted nothing more than for that very thing to happen and for him to be taken down with it. This wasn’t lost to him and he gave credit to the Seascourge for her cleverness - albeit begrudgingly.
He knew the tides were influenced by Tried and His moons and he understood enough that he’d need to rely on their movements to have any hope of success. Therefore, he reasoned he’d need to set off when the tide was higher. From there, he could find a sand bar or the flatter shallows of a beach and, with luck - something he knew he had none of - he could then position his ship in a way that it might sit safely on the sand once the tide went out. Come low tide, the ship would likely rest above the waterline, allowing what water was inside his ship to pour out.
At least, he figured, that would be the case if the conditions were optimal and all went to plan. He didn't have the wherewithal to even begin to comprehend the plethora of extraneous variables and outside influences that could come into play to make it all go awry. Was the ship sound enough not to break apart along the way - or once it found itself beached? Where was he going to do this? Where was the tide at - and how tidal were Port Diablo and the surrounding waterways?
With this in mind, he set his focus on tracking the tidal movements of the port since that was what he determined was the integral piece of information for this whole thing to work. So he snatched up his crutch and bungled his way above board, readying himself for the task before him.
In Pyrre’s case, it was more like an anaesthetic.
The flux of emotions he had experienced since being cursed by Chrien had slowly grown more and more subdued as one trial bled into the next. The mark had continued to wrest control from the Biqaj, robbing him of the agency he had so desperately fought to maintain, that now, a cycle and a half into this nightmare, his resolve had nearly been ground to dust, leaving nothing more than numbness and apathy in its wake.
So, when waking to see water in the very place it was not meant to be, stirring and moving in lazy motions that caused it to give passing, gentle caresses to the inner walls of his cabin, the first thing he felt was not panic or alarm but simply acceptance. Yet another thing to add to the long list of things that had become a regular part of his miserable existence.
He sighed heavily before the urgency of the matter at hand finally saw him shoot out of bed, a slew of Rahaki curses pouring from his mouth.
He moved mechanically once he finally rose to address the newest inconvenience, going through the motions of fishing out anything of importance from the just-shy-of-ankle-deep water and moving it somewhere high so said items could have a chance to dry if they weren’t already ruined. Each action punctuated by a colourful curse at his miserable lot in life. He had opted to leave his prosthesis off since there were more pressing matters to see to - plus, he wagered the salty water of the docks that now found itself within the hull of his ship would not be kind to his wooden peg leg. So, instead, he hopped about on his left foot, using the narrow interior of the cabin to his advantage and the walls and sparse furnishings as support when necessary.
It was during this retrieval and salvage effort that he discovered a small false panel near the foot of his bunk that, when pushed against, gave way to a hidden compartment. There was no resistance and must have been of poor quality in construction since all it took was an unintended nudge for it to crack open, yet Pyrre had never noticed it. Then again, Pyrre hadn’t exactly paid much attention to the majority of things within the ship.
"The fuck-" he muttered curiously in Rahaki once he finally realised the panel could be removed and he internally scrutinised both himself and the ship's previous owner for this oversight. Within, he uncovered equally poor navigational and cartography suppliesstarting package skill kits, most of which had gotten wet, and hastily shuffled them onto his bed, where he laid them spaced out in a bid to dry them out and save what he could. He suspected the paper items were ruined - if they had even been decent in the first place, but he hoped some items were salvageable.
Once everything he could find had been scooped up and relocated, he began to consider how to get the water out and back in the sea where it belonged. He figured there had to be a leak; knowing his cursed luck, there would be multiple as just one would be an unlikely kindness.
Granted, it wasn’t uncommon for leaks to happen on ships; the hull was often the buffer between the ship and the elements and, as such, damage was expected. The more significant the damage, the more likely it was that the structural integrity of the ship would be affected. However, Pyrre’s ship had done more sitting in the port than sailing and the Biqaj strongly suspected whatever damage had been done was likely extramundane in nature.
- It didn’t help that he’d barely lifted a finger to maintain the equally miserable and cursed vessel.
He knew he could try and shift the water with a pail or bucket but, as he had none and wasn’t sure he wanted to run the risk of ‘borrowing’ one of the many he often saw around the docks, he did not see that as a viable option. Plus, if the hull was, indeed, compromised like he thought, then no amount of bailing would stop more water from coming in. He came to the very solid conclusion that he would need to find a way to get the ship out of the sea. But this posed a number of challenges. Was it possible to get a ship out of water on his own? Would a ship with the amount of water the Shiver currently held be sailable?
He recalled how his clan had managed any hull and keel damage during his time aboard the Meridian’s Beacon. Usually, the ship would be carefully sailed into the shallows to be careened since damages were more likely to occur while at sea and far from any port and self-sufficiency was key to survival. Other times, they utilised haul-out services provided within the shipyards - but that was often reserved for general maintenance. The former option was riskier and akin to running the ship aground but it did have the added bonus of being free. The latter also heavily depended on how busy the shipyards were.
Pyrre did not have the time nor the coin to seek professional assistance. He had neither the crew nor the experience of sailing a sloop single-handedly in shallows - he barely had the skill to even get it through the port to berth. Due to how reluctant and reticent he had been to sail the very thing that had been the setting for his clash with Chrien, he was woefully unfamiliar with how the sloop sailed, let alone if it was even still seaworthy. But he’d have to manage on his own - and as quickly as possible lest the stricken vessel he called his home be lost to Chrien’s watery realm.
It was a bit ironic, considering there had been a time when he had wanted nothing more than for that very thing to happen and for him to be taken down with it. This wasn’t lost to him and he gave credit to the Seascourge for her cleverness - albeit begrudgingly.
He knew the tides were influenced by Tried and His moons and he understood enough that he’d need to rely on their movements to have any hope of success. Therefore, he reasoned he’d need to set off when the tide was higher. From there, he could find a sand bar or the flatter shallows of a beach and, with luck - something he knew he had none of - he could then position his ship in a way that it might sit safely on the sand once the tide went out. Come low tide, the ship would likely rest above the waterline, allowing what water was inside his ship to pour out.
At least, he figured, that would be the case if the conditions were optimal and all went to plan. He didn't have the wherewithal to even begin to comprehend the plethora of extraneous variables and outside influences that could come into play to make it all go awry. Was the ship sound enough not to break apart along the way - or once it found itself beached? Where was he going to do this? Where was the tide at - and how tidal were Port Diablo and the surrounding waterways?
With this in mind, he set his focus on tracking the tidal movements of the port since that was what he determined was the integral piece of information for this whole thing to work. So he snatched up his crutch and bungled his way above board, readying himself for the task before him.
continued here
