A Long Walk Home - Prologue

On the docks themselves many ships were moored, floating idly with their lines tied and their masts bare in such a way that it could almost be obscene. Deck hands and dockers scurried about, running errands and performing tasks like all the rest of the city's peoples.

There was one in particular--a slim young man with short, wild, brown hair--wrestling to get one of the smaller ships' land lines tied by himself. Every once in a while he'd slip, belt out a long line of obscenities, then start the process all over again. No one really took notice of this--even though he had been struggling for almost a half an hour--but that was the way things generally went on the docks.

If anyone had been paying attention, they would have quite easily been able to predict what was going to happen next. The dock was wet and slippery, as usual, and the rope had fallen into the water enough for it to be soaked right through. It was only a few minutes before fate set in. With the rope finally secure on its peg, the young man gave it a hard tug for good measure. Surely enough, he took one last stumble, then fell right off into the water.

At this point, everyone took notice. He climbed slowly up, and pulled himself onto the dock, looking humourously similar to a wet rat. Most of the men that saw this were satisfied with a short chuckle, though a few dared to let out a good, hearty laugh. He sat down on the dock and muttered to himself, then flashed a wry grin. After a few moments, chuckling fell to a few isolated snorts as a large man lumbered down the dock in his direction.

The younger man stood up as the other approached and stared him down sourly. All he could really do was wince in anticipation of the lecture that was sure to come.

"Whatever. Listen, I'm not paying you to mess around on my docks. You're supposed to have these ships secured!" The big man growled, "I've got fifteen more waiting in the harbour, and you're here playing games! I oughta throw you back in there myself!"

"Sorry, Paulie. It won't happen again." Daramyr mumbled, eyeing the rope he'd fought with accusingly.

"Yeah, I betcha! Get to work!" He grumbled, then turned around and stomped off, chewing on a small piece of wood. He'd always chew on that old thing when he was stressed out, and boy, that man always seems to be on the edge. The workers sometimes joked about stealing Paulom Wristersmear's little chew toy, but in the end none proved brave enough to soil their hands with such a disgusting thing. That's pretty bad, considering some of the things you have to stick your hands in, in this line of work.

Daramyr sighed, giving the peg a light kick. If you worked on the docks, you had to accept that Paulie would eventually grow on you. He does, and had grown on Daramyr, but in the three years he'd worked for that man, he could swear that old Paulie never once got his name right. Not that it mattered, in the end. Paulie did pay his workers well.

He moved on to another ship, and this one was much easier. It only took a few minutes, and there were no nasty spills this time. By the time he had finished two more, his clothes were only moderately damp. Bake-dried by the sun, and pretty uncomfortable, but better than sopping wet, nonetheless.

By the end of the working day, the sun was setting over the harbour, and his clothes had dried nicely. Most of the men were in a hurry to get home to their wives and their supper, but Daramyr lagged behind to look out over the bay. He could feel it deep in his gut, that touch of wanderlust, almost as if he'd be happy to just jump in that water and swim away. He had a good life here, and a good job. He was only nineteen, and still lived with his Father and Mother, but that wouldn't be so for much longer, assuming he kept his job here on the docks. Something just didn't feel right about it, though. Maybe it was the people--maybe it was just boredom. Whatever it was, when that feeling came, Daramyr had to struggle to keep his feet on the ground.

He stood at the end of the dock and considered his options for a while. He could hop on one of these ships, join the crew, and see the ports of world. He could join a band of adventurers and travel to far away lands in search of treasure hoards. There sure were a good number of their kind coming through here. These days, adventurers are a dime a dozen. There were more options than he could count, but by the time sun disappeared below the water, he decided to settle for dinner and bed.

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