A Long Walk Home

Daramyr took in his surroundings with a deep breath, feeling humbled by the vastness of this place. Far to the north, looking over the ship's starboard side, he could see a hint of the coastline, that which was too far for the eye to see just an hour before. After three weeks of stopless travel, that small black line was a sight to see. As his eyes drifted forward once more, he couldn't help but frown. The clouds far west were turning black with anger, and west had been their heading since leaving Aina. This would be the first storm they've encountered in a least a week, which could be thought a blessing. The galley's barrelled water was warm and stale, like bad mead. It would always be, that the storms at sea could be both best friend and sworn enemy to the seamen of this world.

After his first week on the ship, once the horrible churning in his stomach had calmed, Daramyr started to get used to life at sea. The menial tasks were painfully similar to those on the docks, but when the work was done being able to look out on the endless water and the innumerable stars above made it all worthwhile.

Into the second and third weeks, there were several nights he had been invited to have dinner with the Captain, in his quarters. This excited him for many reasons at first, mainly because he'd assumed the Captain would be offered better meals than the crew, but in the end it turned out to be the same old gruel. Durgus, the ship's cook, had a serious problem with imagination.

The conversation was always good, however. The Captain had many stories to tell of his travels, and Daramyr, too, had much to say now that he knew the man a bit better. He had ideas and thoughts, both had good laughs at the expense of several members of the crew, and in the end, he could even venture to say that they were becoming quick friends. Even the crew enjoyed his company more than expected. All that time on the docks listening to old men crack dirty jokes had served him very well here, even if the same joke ended up making its way around the ship thrice before the men stopped their tearful guffaws.

"Ho, there, Dare." A gruff voice called over the wind. It was a familiar voice, now, belonging to the man of many pots and pans from below decks. The crew had mostly taken to calling him Dare, and while he liked that, it reminded him of someone back home. No one else had really ever called him that--but, that was far behind him now.

Dare turned on his heel, switched hands on the rope, and then leaned his back against the railing. His hair started to blow in his face, but he chose to ignore it. Sure enough, Durgus stood before him, as round and short as round and short can be. His head was bald, save for a few remaining strands, and his beard was braided all the way down to his knees. Durgus was a dwarven man, hailing from the city of Eria, near the Pardor Mountains. He was a miner there in his younger years, but pulled anchor when he met the captain. Now, he spent his days mixing slop for the crew, and serving ale to those already too drunk to drink. While he was a gruff little man, he had a good sense of humour when the ale was right.

"Nothin'! Don't need nothin' from ye, I don't, but the Cap'n, he's eatin' and says fer ye to join him. Says he has some things to talk about, but I don't know what. Y'hear?"

Dare nodded and stood up straight, stretching his arms out while the wind played wildly around him. With a grin, he started forward, watching Durgus' face turn redder and redder, preparing for what was to come.

"Y'know, I don't know what the Cap'n sees in ye." Durgus complained as they walked downship, "Oh no, ol' Durgus never gets invited to eat in them fancy quarters he's got, even though I've stayed locked up below deck like a slave for this ol' ship for years! No appreciation for us dwarves, these days! We're a valuable commodity, y'know! No appreciation! No sir!"

Durgus went on like that all the way to the Captain's door, where they both stopped. Dare always found it very amazing that such a compact, roly-poly man had such powerful lungs. He could have sworn that the old dwarf hadn't taken more than two breaths the whole time. If asked, Durgus would likely tell him that it's true.

Strong lungs we need, to delve down so deep! He'd say, [i]Every inch of a dwarf is built for power! Why, back home...

Dare shook his head sharply and looked down at the ugly scowl on the old dwarf's face.

Dare shook his head again with a chuckle, "No, no. Thanks for coming to get me, Durgus."

"Yeah, yeah." He grumbled, waving a hand in the air as rudely as he could while he turned and started away, "'Thank ye!' He says. Roight! What a thank ye I deserve, yer damn straight."

Dare chuckled once more, watching the round little man waddle of grumpily. By the time Durgus disappeared from sight, his ranting could still be heard over the wind.

Finally, with a wry grin on his face, Dare turned and opened the door, and then knocked. The Captain was sitting at his wide, mahogany desk, poking at the pulsating mass of slop in his bowl. As Dare knocked, he looked up, seeming quite relieved to have an excuse to ignore the unpleasant meal.

"Come in, come in. Have a seat, lad." He offered, motioning his hand to the seat in front of the desk. Dare stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and made his way to the chair to sit. He flopped down in the comfortable, cushioned chair with a pleased grunt. He looked up at the Captain, and his grin began to fade. Whereas normally the Captain was all grins, chuckles and bad jokes while he ate, tonight he had a serious look on his face.

"Oh, no, nothing wrong." He answered slowly, his brow crumpling up in a heap of thought, "Though, we need to talk, you and I."

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