Post by Tyrun the Norseman on Jul 22, 2004 1:37:18 GMT -5
((I just noticed that Robin has given the signal...this is a continuation of the "Odd Visit" thread.))
By now, the lesson was done, and Tyrun had settled in with a pipe of tobacco. Dasid had been allowed to play with an astrolabe that had caught his eye, and they were now joined by Torla and Harl, who came for a drink and a bit of conversation. After wracking his brain for a subject that wasn't too scandalous for the boy's ears, Tyrun begun telling a tale of his early seafaring years. They all laughed as the captain related an incident in which a lonely whale had fallen in love with his ship. Tyrun had the model dragonship in one hand, bobbing it about in the air as he described his actions...the whale was represented by a burlap bag stuffed with socks, held up in the other hand.
The cabin rang with laughter as he spun his yarn, complete with a ridiculous impersonation of the whale's groaning speech. Tyrun himself could barely complete the story, as he could hardly be heard over all the ruckus.
Then, a shout from above caused them all to pause. The stomp of boots could be heard on the deck, and then suddenly the Mongol Yurchak was standing in the cabin's open doorway.
"The signal is given." And then he was gone.
Without a word, Harl and Torla rose and followed him, moving fast, yet not rushing. Before they even reached the deck, Tyrun could feel the ship turning with the wind as her sails were unfurled. His crew had practiced long and hard, and they knew exactly what to do, without needing to be commanded.
Glancing out the windows, he could see the other vessels readying for travel, their canvasses billowing, seeming to awake from slumber as their running-lanterns were lit. The silence of the evening was slowly being eroded by the shouts and calls of his crew, as they got The Zephyr moving.
Dasid, too, got up to leave, but Tyrun stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. Turning the lad to face him, he spoke in a solemn voice. "We may end up in battle, Dasid. And battle is a terrible thing. If you don't want to face this, I can spare a man and a boat to take you to that village onshore. Your sister is ashore yet, and she misses you...take that into consideration. But, if you decide to leave, I won't punish you, or think any less of you." Tyrun nodded slowly. "And you will still be a crewman here afterward."
"If you decide to stay, you keep your knife handy, just in case. But let me be perfectly clear here. Your job will be to keep the gunners supplied with water, ammunition, and other supplies. Under no circumstances are you to engage in combat! If any of them bastiches comes after you, then you get yourself the hell away from there. Either find me, or Torla. I'm serious, Dasid...I swear by Thor, Odin, Mary, and Jesus, that if I see you looking for trouble, I'll have you mucking out the bilges for the next five years!"
((At this point, I cannot speak for Dasid as to whether he will stay or not.))
Then, he gave Dasid a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Now, go ask Barda to fix you a snack, then get off to your hammock for some rest."
When Dasid had gone, Tyrun strapped on his sword-belt, and took up his Dwarven war-axe. Giving his pockets a quick pat to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he made his way to the quarterdeck. The sky was dark now, and the stars were glittering overhead. Behind him, he observed the lights of his fleet, following in an orderly line. The night was cool, and Tyrun leaned against the rail, letting the wind play over his face. After doing some navigational calculations, he summoned Torla and Harl to join him on the quarterdeck.
They said nothing for awhile, until Tyrun spoke. "We'll be there by morning. Make sure you're both well-rested tonight." Then, he spent a few moments watching the dark mass of the shore as they skimmed by. "I am expecting a battle tomorrow."
"Good!" Torla said with a laugh. "By Thor, we'll give 'em a reason to hate Norsemen!"
Tyrun looked out over the ship. He could see the dim forms and hear the voices of his crew...a motley assortment of people from all over the world. He chuckled. "I reckon those Franks will end up hating most of the planet, by the time we're done." Then, turning to Harl, he spoke in a firm tone. "I don't want any martyrs tomorrow. This ain't Ragnarrok, and I won't abide any stupid deaths. I expect everybody to use their heads, and come out of this with nothing more than a few scrapes."
Harl nodded. "Understood."
Tyrun returned the nod, and then spoke to both of his officers. "One more thing. I want everybody to keep an eye on the boy...and protect him...at all costs.”
((Unless Dasid decides to leave, in which case, just nevermind!))
Then they left him alone, and he stared off into the blackness...his finger drumming impatiently on the head of his axe.
By now, the lesson was done, and Tyrun had settled in with a pipe of tobacco. Dasid had been allowed to play with an astrolabe that had caught his eye, and they were now joined by Torla and Harl, who came for a drink and a bit of conversation. After wracking his brain for a subject that wasn't too scandalous for the boy's ears, Tyrun begun telling a tale of his early seafaring years. They all laughed as the captain related an incident in which a lonely whale had fallen in love with his ship. Tyrun had the model dragonship in one hand, bobbing it about in the air as he described his actions...the whale was represented by a burlap bag stuffed with socks, held up in the other hand.
The cabin rang with laughter as he spun his yarn, complete with a ridiculous impersonation of the whale's groaning speech. Tyrun himself could barely complete the story, as he could hardly be heard over all the ruckus.
Then, a shout from above caused them all to pause. The stomp of boots could be heard on the deck, and then suddenly the Mongol Yurchak was standing in the cabin's open doorway.
"The signal is given." And then he was gone.
Without a word, Harl and Torla rose and followed him, moving fast, yet not rushing. Before they even reached the deck, Tyrun could feel the ship turning with the wind as her sails were unfurled. His crew had practiced long and hard, and they knew exactly what to do, without needing to be commanded.
Glancing out the windows, he could see the other vessels readying for travel, their canvasses billowing, seeming to awake from slumber as their running-lanterns were lit. The silence of the evening was slowly being eroded by the shouts and calls of his crew, as they got The Zephyr moving.
Dasid, too, got up to leave, but Tyrun stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. Turning the lad to face him, he spoke in a solemn voice. "We may end up in battle, Dasid. And battle is a terrible thing. If you don't want to face this, I can spare a man and a boat to take you to that village onshore. Your sister is ashore yet, and she misses you...take that into consideration. But, if you decide to leave, I won't punish you, or think any less of you." Tyrun nodded slowly. "And you will still be a crewman here afterward."
"If you decide to stay, you keep your knife handy, just in case. But let me be perfectly clear here. Your job will be to keep the gunners supplied with water, ammunition, and other supplies. Under no circumstances are you to engage in combat! If any of them bastiches comes after you, then you get yourself the hell away from there. Either find me, or Torla. I'm serious, Dasid...I swear by Thor, Odin, Mary, and Jesus, that if I see you looking for trouble, I'll have you mucking out the bilges for the next five years!"
((At this point, I cannot speak for Dasid as to whether he will stay or not.))
Then, he gave Dasid a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Now, go ask Barda to fix you a snack, then get off to your hammock for some rest."
When Dasid had gone, Tyrun strapped on his sword-belt, and took up his Dwarven war-axe. Giving his pockets a quick pat to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he made his way to the quarterdeck. The sky was dark now, and the stars were glittering overhead. Behind him, he observed the lights of his fleet, following in an orderly line. The night was cool, and Tyrun leaned against the rail, letting the wind play over his face. After doing some navigational calculations, he summoned Torla and Harl to join him on the quarterdeck.
They said nothing for awhile, until Tyrun spoke. "We'll be there by morning. Make sure you're both well-rested tonight." Then, he spent a few moments watching the dark mass of the shore as they skimmed by. "I am expecting a battle tomorrow."
"Good!" Torla said with a laugh. "By Thor, we'll give 'em a reason to hate Norsemen!"
Tyrun looked out over the ship. He could see the dim forms and hear the voices of his crew...a motley assortment of people from all over the world. He chuckled. "I reckon those Franks will end up hating most of the planet, by the time we're done." Then, turning to Harl, he spoke in a firm tone. "I don't want any martyrs tomorrow. This ain't Ragnarrok, and I won't abide any stupid deaths. I expect everybody to use their heads, and come out of this with nothing more than a few scrapes."
Harl nodded. "Understood."
Tyrun returned the nod, and then spoke to both of his officers. "One more thing. I want everybody to keep an eye on the boy...and protect him...at all costs.”
((Unless Dasid decides to leave, in which case, just nevermind!))
Then they left him alone, and he stared off into the blackness...his finger drumming impatiently on the head of his axe.