[Story] Day 1 - Walking the Path

(You can find the entire saga so far (Day 1-11) by "chapter" here: http://ryukaki.com)


Thunder sounded outside, and my eyes snapped open, wrenched from a sleep filled with comfortable dreams of home, and of the guild. There was a storm out there, and it was angry. The cot I had woken up on was still cold and damp, my cage illuminated by a single candle, swinging lonely in the hallway that separated my prison from that of another’s. I was on a ship headed for Wraeclast, and from my cell made of wood and iron I could feel the pitch and yaw of the sea outside. It was livid, relentless, and furious with our trespassing into the waters around the island. There was a sudden, violent lurch that sent old food plates and utensils clattering and sliding across the floor and into the metal bars of my cell. A second crash sounded, drowning out the rest of the world, not of thunder but of splintering wood and shattering iron. I stared at the huge mast of the ship that had just missed my cell, bisecting the whole of the ship; shell shocked enough to question if it was actually there. There were bodies entangled with the broken, splintered trunk, and still it felt as if it might have been an illusion or a trick. It was the rain beating down on me, freezing cold and brutally windswept, that finally brought things back into focus; the horrified faces of the men and women trapped under the mast, their screams of pain, the shouts of the crew-- all flooding in at once.

Icy water from below followed, sweeping in around my ankles, and I was bolt upright. The darkness above was crawling with shadowy figures that once were crew, but now, for all I cared, could have been nightmares. There was no decision to be made in my mind; I would take my chances with the terrible things above-deck rather than drown in the water as it poured into my prison. The screaming and shouting of voices and whipping of wind was high in my ears, pushing away thoughts and prompting immediate and thoughtless action. I began throwing my small frame against the heavy iron doors, listening to the hinges squeak and cry out against the onslaught. I had been working in private at the joints where they joined the wooden walls and this latest assault on the integrity of the ship had weakened them enough that with a fifth heave and a fresh new bruise on my shoulder, the metal snapped and the great door gave way, clanging in a dead and dull manner against the wooden mast that filled the hallway. For a moment, the door seemed stuck, but I realized that it did not matter. The opening was just large enough for me to squeeze through.

I was malnourished, and my body protested the fatigue, adrenaline pumping furiously with the frantic pounding of my heart. I fumbled the first few times my fingers hit against the slick, wet length of the mast I would need to climb out of the lower decks; I had to get up to the surface where the shadows were screaming and playing about in the artificial night brought by heavy, thick black and purple clouds rolling ominously in the sky above, back-lit just slightly by the sun now obscured. Another gust of wind almost threw me off when I had climbed half of the distance, feet barely protected by thin leather boots I had been allowed to keep by the Magistrate, along with what clothes I had on my body when I was sentenced. Save the coat. They didn't let me keep the coat. I would get that coat back, I resolved then and there on that fallen mast amidst a storm in the ocean.

There were bodies, busy, moving everywhere around me. They bumped into and walked around, barked orders loudly at the misshapen blob that I was, huddled low with my head covered and an arm over my chest to hide my identity. At one point, I had heard someone call out, "The Exiles! Some of them have escaped! Find them!" in a harsh voice that I was sure belonged to the captain, a man I had known for fifteen years prior. The extra rations he had slipped me in private during the voyage may have been what had given me the strength to escape, and in my mind, before throwing myself from the ship, I thanked him. Somewhere in the distance, I could see the shape of an island, and sunlight peeking through the clouds, but the water was cold and my mind had all but given up. I clung, shaking, to a hunk of driftwood that had fallen from the ship and closed my eyes.

When I felt consciousness returning, it was lead by a heartbeat thumping mercilessly in my ear. I could feel the ache that had worked its way with the water into every muscle and bone, even without moving them. My head felt bloated, and each thump in my skull brought a surge of pain that traveled all the way down my spine to tickle my tailbone in a manner that was most unpleasant. I could feel sand below me, and water lapping charismatically at what skin lay exposed, not covered by damp, uncomfortable clothing of leathers and knitted fabrics that retained water as though it was the last they would ever see.

Somewhere nearby there was the heaving of breath that did not belong to me, and the soft groaning of a male voice, most certainly not my own. The surf pulled at the bits of my dressings that were not plastered to my body, tugging me slowly from my dazed state, into the waking world. When my eyes finally opened, and I looked up, I could see a man fallen with his back against a large chunk of dried-out and well-washed oak, as though some giant had cast the stump here from a distance and it had lain there for years in the tide. He coughed a few times, and slowly I managed to get to my feet, stumbling just once, dizzy and dehydrated. Next to him lay another immobile corpse, long dead from the beating of the sea.

"Hey there," he muttered, left hand over a bloody spot on his low-cut, poor man's shirt. He was one of the Exiles. I rubbed my face, brushing away the stinging, salty seawater, and he smiled at me a charming, roguish smile.

"... Hi," I responded, and he coughed again.

"It's good to see another one of us made it. There is an encampment nearby they have a healer, if you could just--"

I screamed when the shambling mound of flesh I had previously taken to be long dead, rose suddenly and lunged at the dying man, latching onto his throat with its gaping mouth, biting down and smothering his cries with blood and silence. When its face turned to me, I almost shrieked again, and stumbled backwards through the water, rushing towards the sand and anywhere that wasn't here. My foot struck against something hard in the water, and I tripped over it, falling and barely catching myself on shaking arms. There was a moment or two where I thought myself dead, but I resolved to gather my wits. I had a coat to get back. Water flew everywhere as the shambling creature lunged towards me, and I grabbed for whatever it was that I had tripped over. It was only after I had opened my eyes and raised my arm, the object in my hand held out, that I realized what had tripped me was an old and rusted blade, likely washed ashore with one of the many shipwrecks that took place near Wraeclast. The shuffling, moaning body shuddered and fell limp, eyes as dead and empty as the sky above and the landscape of the shore I had landed on.

When the body of the risen corpse had been dislodged from the blade and its still dully shining surface had been washed in the salty waters, I cast my gaze out to where the Exile, now dead, had pointed. An encampment. With people. Others like me, no doubt. I knew where I had to go.

-- Senophostria.

Wow, nice read.

But I apologize for only reading a third of it.

nice role-playing story :)

Holy crap.. You totally put some effort on that. Nice1!

Edited

I like what I'm seeing so far. Write more!

Thanks. I will be doing so!

very good, you rly put in a lot of effort with this. nice read.

Updated, thank you for all of the feedback.

Went back and did some proofreading/edits/other stuff to most of the entries, it should all read a lot more smoothly now.

do you do any writing elsewhere? I like this.