Turning Tides (Part 1) – NaNoWriMo 2010

Title: Turning Tides (NaNoWriMo 2010)
Series: Final Fantasy XIV
Characters: Soreas Lennart
Rated: PG-13 (language, violence)
Words: 1,628

Summary: The story of Soreas Lennart, a young Plainsfolk Lalafell Marauder, and how he becomes caught in a maelstrom of lies, deceit and betrayal aboard the Ocean’s Whore, as well as how he escapes it all despite insurmountable odds to settle into a relatively peaceful life as a trader for the Alcedea Crafters’ Guild.

Okay, here we go. Please keep in mind that this is the second draft. From here on, this will post on a M-W-F schedule, at 12:00 am. Please comment!

The mid-morning sun shone brightly upon the azure ocean, casting a picturesque reflection that made the waters shine in an almost magical way. One would have liked to imagine that such a sight would be welcomed with open arms, but instead, it evoked nothing but a sigh to the person keeping a watchful eye upon it.

Soreas Lennart was more than a little bored. In fact, he was bored enough that he wished, from his perch in the crow’s nest of The Ocean’s Whore (he was sure the name resulted in a lost bet or something) that anything would happen at all: a merchant vessel blindly sailing into their path, a freak storm with gale-force winds, anything… even a sudden appearance by the Knights of the Barracuda would have been welcome at this point. But the ugly truth was that business was as drying up as quickly as the ship’s kegs, and without a mark in over a week, things weren’t looking good.

“Hoy, Soreas!” A voice from below called up the mast, and he looked down to see one of his crewmates – a burly Hyur with a scar over his eye – calling up to him. “Seen anythin’ yet?”

“Sure did, mate,” he replied with a smirk as he crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back against the mast. “I saw a pair of mermaids frolicking in the waves, their long, flowing tresses decorated with pearls, and their lithe, nubile figures clothed in naught but sea foam. An albatross flew by and said hello, telling me fables of golden cities… A shadow of a wha- …”

“Arse. Did you see anything that wasn’t the product of some drunken hallucination?” the Hyur asked dryly.

“Hmm…” Soreas looked thoughtful as he pondered his crewmate’s question. After a deliberate pause, he shook his head, unable to hide the grin that was now plastered on his face. “Nope.”

“Pah!” The man spat on the deck and glared at Soreas in disgust. “Halone take that smart mouth of yours and cut your tongue out!”

Soreas chuckled to himself as his crewmate went back to his business, and he turned his gaze back to the sea, returning to his quiet contemplation of the state of their business.

One might have taken pity on The Ocean’s Whore and her crew, blaming the rampant piracy along the trade routes to and from Limsa Lominsa and the inability of the Knights of the Barracuda to keep it all under control, but the truth was that Soreas belonged the Raging Wolves – a crew of pirates and cutthroats – and thus were not the object of worldly compassion or pity.

Soreas himself looked like the last person who would belong on a ship that engaged in acts of piracy. A fair-skinned Plainsfolk Lalafell, his form was diminutive compared to that of the Elezen, Hyur and Roegadyn on the ship; however, he, along with the few other Lalafell aboard the Whore, was nonetheless useful to the entire operation, especially with his keen eyesight and his everlasting good humour. He was of average height–at least, for a Lalafell – and he had silver hair that he mostly kept hidden under a white cotton bandanna decorated with beads and fangs along the rim, except for a stray lock that invariably would fall out in front of his deep green eyes. He wore, as was his habit, a white shirt that laced up in the front, with sheepskin leather trousers and boots to guard against the unpredictable ocean gales.

No one knew why he’d joined up with the crew, nor did he know himself… whenever he tried to remember when and where he’d become wrapped up in that entire affair, he couldn’t help but shrug it all off. What mattered was the now, and at the moment, while he was bored stiff, he certainly was having fun.

As he closed his eyes to try and sneak a quick nap on the job – something that, upon reflection, he wouldn’t have been able to do even a month ago – a nearly imperceptible speck in the distance caught his eye. After staring out towards the sea to make sure that he wasn’t actually hallucinating like he was accused just moments ago, he glanced down towards the deck.

“Vitor, wait.” Soreas didn’t flinch as he Hyur turned and shot at him a glare that could have killed at ten paces. “Go get the captain, quick…”

Vitor opened his mouth to retort, but Soreas gave him a look that told him that he was being very serious; Soreas watched as he gave him a dirty look before he rushed off towards the captain’s quarters.

A few moments later, a tall, raven-haired Elezen emerged from his cabin, a bored expression about him that rivalled even the one he wore moments ago. He was paler than most Elezen he’d seen, which indicated that he likely was a Duskwight, but no one ever dared asking Captain Marius about his lineage, nor should anyone have cared. He wore a lightweight, olive green shirt that seemed to be made from hemp, and dark brown trousers. At his sides were a pair of wicked-looking cesti, their knuckles reinforced with sharp studs. He had an air of authority about him, and though he was slender, it didn’t made him seem at all frail, and he looked like he had no objections to showing who’s boss.

“What’s wrong, runt?” Marius said with an irritated expression. “Hung yourself from the rigging to pass the time?”

“You only wish I’d provide that much entertainment, Captain,” Soreas replied with a smirk and an exaggerated bow from his seat. Being called a runt was mild to say the least, indicating that despite his sour expression, that Captain Marius was in a somewhat good mood. “But as much as I appreciate your faith in me, I merely wanted to bring to your attention something to the south- south- west of here, if it so pleases you.”

The Elezen Captain sighed in irritation at Soreas, but he nonetheless took his spyglass out from an inner pocket in his doublet and extended it, in apparent consideration for his crew’s counsel. As he did that, Soreas swung down from his perch with practised ease, rappelling down the rigging and landing close to where Marius was standing.

“Merchant ship…” the Captain said as he focused on the ship in the distance. After a moment, he frowned and lowered the spyglass with a muttered oath. “Pah, it’s but a caravel.”

“It’s still something, though,” Soreas replied with a shrug. “And as you’ve likely noticed, the men are getting restless… myself included, I might add.”

“What are you all on about?” Another Hyur joined the two, and Soreas unconsciously moved aside to give him room along the rail. Gravan was Quartermaster aboard the Whore, and was Marius’ second in command. He didn’t seem like much of a pirate; he was tall and slender, with tanned skin and short blond hair, along with deep indigo eyes that seemed to stare straight through whomever he was speaking to. His blonde mustache was neatly trimmed, and his beard cleanly followed his jawline, coming up his chin in a straight line. He worse a simple, unadorned tunic made of undyed cotton, and darker trousers. Unlike the rest of the crew who, for the most part, wielded swords and axes, a simple silver sceptre with a large blood ruby set in the head hung at his hip, the type of weapon used by a Thaumaturge, a master of the arcane. Soreas honestly didn’t understand the power that Gravan wielded, and he, along with the rest of the crew, were more than wary of his abilities when he first joined up with them two years ago; however, he quickly proved himself to be a valuable asset to the crew, and made it clear that he wasn’t a pushover just because he was a mage.

Marius frowned and wordlessly handed Gravan the spyglass, and Soreas watched as the blond Hyur stared at the ship thoughtfully; when he lowered the spyglass, his face wore a perplexed expression as he continued staring off in the distance.

“I don’t suppose you’ve noticed that the ship isn’t moving?” he asked mildly as he glanced at the two.

“So I wasn’t the only one seeing that, eh?” Marius glanced down at Soreas, who shrugged helplessly at his two superiors.

“They could have weighed anchor for any reason. A sickness, or even a crisis…”

“Or an act of piracy…” interjected Gravan.

“That’s bullshit,” Marius said with a bitter laugh. “There hasn’t been a ship in these waters for the last week.”

“Even so, Captain, it’s worth looking into.” Soreas said with another shrug. “Besides, it might give us a clue as to why things are so dead these days.”

“Mmm.” Marius stared in the distance, and after a moment, he slammed his fist against the rail and turned away from the ocean. “Gravan, tell the men to get ready to board. Let’s hope you’re right, squirt,” the Elezen added with a rueful glance at Soreas. “Or you’ll be peelin’ potatoes for the next week and then some.”

“Heh.” Soreas would normally have retorted, but he was already feeling his heart begin to pound as the excitement of the situation sank in. Brawls and skirmishes amongst crewmates aside, he hadn’t seen any action in a very long time, and his axe was itching to taste blood.

As news spread throughout the crew of a potential mark, the sounds of cheering echoed throughout the ship as everyone made ready. Soreas cast a last glance towards the ship on the horizon before going below deck to fetch his own weapon and to prepare for battle, all the while grinning like a madman.

Current Mood: Anxious