Shadow of Starlight
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: dancing among the ledgerlines...
Posts: 2,347
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Callath tightened his grip on the knife in his hand, grabbed from somewhere on the deck, as a corsair lurched towards him, swinging a longsword with a piercing yell, his greasy black hair flying. One....two...th- a sudden lurch of the boat caught both boy and corsair off-guard, along with most of the rest of the people on the ship's deck. Callath felt his feet knocked from under him as a fraction of wood, split from the mast maybe, caught one ankle and he sprawled flat on his back, but the knife which clattered out of his grip and away along the deck was not his greatest concern - the sudden lurch was also sending him sliding rapidly towards the side of the boat, and the wide gutters along it. Only his quick reflexes, trained from years of unruly and unpredictable colts, saved the boy's life as his hand shot out to grab one edge of the gutter hole and he held on, literally, for dear life as all sorts clattered out beside him. Just don't bloody look down... he thought grimly, unable to dispel the fact that, yes, not that far beneath him were ever-rising waves that were not at all inclined towards falling stable-boys. As the ship righted itself again, Callath tried to pull himself back up, the tendons in his shoulders screaming as his other hand flailed. He made another magnificent effort with a muted groan...only to nearly fall again as a slight tip of the ship, which would hardly be noticable, sent his water-slicked fingers sliding almost off the gutter. He grabbed for it again, watery doom flitting through his mind until a hand reached down towards him, grabbing his wrist before it fell. Callath looked up at the owner of the hand to see a dark haired, alert looking man a few years older than himself, his sharp features smiling grimly down at him.
What was slightly more alarming was the fact that the man's hands, and subsequently now Callath's wrist as well, were covered in blood.
The man staggered back slightly, letting go, and Callath attempted to drag himself back onto the bucking ship until the man re-appeared, holding one broad, tanned hand out. "Give me your free hand, boy!"
Callath didn't think about it, simply forced another effort on his tiring limbs and swung his hand into a roman handshake with the older man, who didn't waste time in dragging him, with a huge effort from them both, onto his chest on the deck. Callath scrabbled slightly, his feet kicking sickeningly in thin air for a second, before he dragged himself fully on and up to his feet.
The man stood nearby, a sharp, alert look on his face as he glanced around. Callath, getting his breath back quickly, wondered what exactly he was doing and why he wasn't joining in with the fights, but soon saw why as another catapult-load ricocheted over their heads, and the stable boy leapt onto the man's back, dragging him down just in time. They both struggled back up and the man turned to Callath, nodding gratefully, before turning without a word and running to where a heavy-set man of about 40 or 45, to judge from his sea-battered looks, had been injured by the blast, splinters buried deep into forehead and, to Callath's horror, one eye, and was cursing wildly among sobs as he fell, clutching the mast. Callath's rescuer darted to his side immediately, uttering a sharp but soft "stay still, man!" before he had a quick look at the man's eye, peering into the wound. He glanced up a Callath, nodding. "M'name's Luc, I'm helping the doctor - thanks for getting me down back there."
He held out a hand, and Callath suddenly understood why they were so blood-stained. Had the crew sustained such injury already? He grabbed the man's hand and shook briefly. "Callath Harres, I came aboard with Avershire and...Maurice Thrann's son? And I should be thanking you." The part about Devon ended questioningly, as Callath was not sure if the man would know who Devon was. The man nodded and grinned suddenly. "Not a sailor then?"
Callath shook his head hopelessly, but returned the grin, and Lu looked back to the wounded man, indicating with his head that Callath squat as well. He addressed the wounded man, now half blind and, Callath saw, badly wounded in the leg as well, as Luc hoisted him into a sitting position, his arms under the man's armpits, speaking over the man's next apparently drunken torrent of wild cursing that made Callath raise an eyebrow. "Alright, Yulman, point taken - can you stand?"
"Can I stand? Ach, no one's asked me that for a good coupla decades, boy, of course I-" he scoffed, attempting to stand, then cut off sharply, another few choice words spurting from his lips before he continued, breathing sharply and painfully but speaking through gritted teeth, "N...no...look at that, it...it doesn't seem I c-can, boy..."
Luc nodded. "Don't try to open your eyes or move your legs, Yulman. Callath, get his legs and for gods' sakes be careful. We need to get him below."
Callath nodded. He glanced at the trapdoor Luc indicated with his head as they lifted the rather thickset man, and was cynically reminded of a time when he had had to manoevure a very fractious colt with a very broken leg through a very small door. "If you say so, Luc...."
Last edited by Amanaduial the archer; 02-29-2004 at 03:21 PM.
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