Arc 718, 31st of Ashan
There was a general buzz along the outskirts of Havardr as fishermen got ready to set out to sea. Nets were being checked and loaded while people slowly gathered around their respective boats. Rynata milled by her own craft, having already seen to it that her fishing supplies were in order. The nets had been folded neatly, bait had been stocked, and the tackle box had been set up. She had tried to emulate how her old clan had prepared for fishing trips. Of course, the operation had been a little larger with the whole family involved, but the process wouldn't change. In fact, the group of workers chatting about the day ahead reminded her a little of the similar scenes she had seen growing up.
While it was all very well that she had been offered a temporary job, she couldn't sail out until she had located her employer, which she hadn't managed to do yet. It was a little concerning then that some of the boats around her were already drifting away to their fishing spots. She briefly wondered if she was posted in a bad place for people to spot her and if her employers were having a hard time catching sight of her. The grey light of early morning probably wasn't the best lighting, either. However, before she could entertain notions of waving down a passerby for help, two figures approached her. One of them an old man with deep age lines cutting across his features. The other was a man about her age, not looking entirely happy to be there. They both carried their own set of supplies and looked to be locals. The elderly man grinned at Rynata and uttered a string of words that sounded vaguely familiar but whipped by too fast for her to comprehend them.
"Sorry?" Her eyes widened at the phrases she couldn't quite piece together into meaning.
"He says, 'nice ship'." The younger of the pair spoke up sounding almost impatient. "I assume you're here for the job notice we put out."
"Oh, Thank you!" Rynata smiled at the old man, not really sure if he spoke Common, but relatively confident that her sentiment would be obvious. "And yes, the ship and I are at your disposal today. We're ready to sail at anytime."
The old man had already hoisted up the equipment the two had brought with them and had shuffled onto the Gilded Siren. Gazing after him, Rynata got the sense that this was just business as usual for him. He had probably lived this life for longer than she had begun to walk let alone sail. Her attention was called back by the young man's sudden comment.
"Pirate Tongue."
"What?"
"He speaks Scalveen. We call that Pirate Tongue. He can probably use Common but I think he's just never bothered." For the man's short tone and unsmiling expression, he was still rather forthcoming. Perhaps he needed to be because of the language barrier his work partner insisted upon shouldering. Still, Rynata took that as a sign of friendliness under a prickly exterior.
"Are you two related?" she asked, extending a hand to help carry the supplies on board. She was waved away but the man muttered a reply.
"He's my grandfather. Petre. And I'm Stefan."
"Rynata," she introduced herself with a steady smile. Helping Petre cast off before he did it all himself, she looked over her shoulder and asked, "I'm surprised you don't have a boat of your own. I got the impression that you two have been in the trade for a while." Petre, who was standing next to her, gave a dry chuckle and launched into the oddly familiar language once more. She caught on that some of the words were in Rakahi, but curiously warped. Meanwhile, the grandfather was giving his grandson a mercilessly teasing look under which Stefan quickly turned red. He spluttered a few Scalveen words of his own all the while making motions for the older man to keep quiet.
"He says to keep a straight course out of here. He'll let you know when to stop." His next words directed at her almost sounded angry, but combined with the blush lingering around his ears, he looked more flustered than anything. Besides, Rynata had a feeling that wasn't what Petre had been talking about at all. Deciding against pushing against the matter, but thoroughly amused, she followed Stefan's instructions out of the port and toward their point. Conversation lulled down as she concentrated on steering. After all, it was rather difficult to maintain a steady course. Though the concept was simple enough, the waves and wind would buffet the craft little by little away from the imagined path. Minute adjustments were needed to ensure an accurately calculated arrival. Only a few more words were exchanged between the other two, and this time it seemed to be just that.
After a short cruise off the coast, Petre eventually waved her down and signaled for her to lower the anchor. Apparently, this was to be their first stop. Rynata loosened the anchor into the waters which were shallow enough to allow for such a thing. This gave her some ideas for later. In the distance she spotted some other ships that must have been with them before in Havardr. They were indistinct black shadows on the waters but she could still see people moving about on each deck, busy casting lines and nets. Aboard the Gilded Siren, Petre and Stefan also got to work with the fishing nets. They scattered some bait off the side of the ship as well as hooked small pieces onto their nets. Taking that as a sign that she should make herself useful, Rynata fetched the trap box. If the waters were shallow she might be able to snag something interesting sneaking along the ocean floor. In her family, it had often been the children's duty as well as their game to set traps. Hopefully her luck at this would continue away from them.
Rigging the box with some odorous bait, she attached a line to the contraption and carefully lowered it off the stern. The trap box wavered out of sight, emitting some large bubbles as it went. She would check on it after a while. For now, she joined the other two in casting nets. They had already come up with a collection of fish. Most of them were mackerel, a streamlined species whose scales shimmered a blueish silver.
If she remembered rightly, the end of net that had the line coiled around the arm. She would need to hold onto it as the rest was thrown out over the water. Drawing her arm back, she allowed the net to slip out of her grasp with the momentum. The throw would have gone well, but something snagged and the material folded in on itself, fluttering uselessly down only a short distance from the ship. Whoops. This was a bit rich coming from a fisherman's daughter. Though come to think of it, her father hadn't always been tied to that profession. Still, now she was faced with the troublesome task of reeling back the failed attempt. As she wound up for another attempt, Petre stepped closer, shaking his head. He reached out and adjusted the net around her hand. Looking pleased as if to say this was the correct way, he coaxed her into casting out the net once more. This time, the net fanned out like it was meant to, landing in the water with a soft splash. Petre helped tug in what amounted to a handful of fish. Rynata joined him in tossing out the smallest of them, sifting through the small scaly pile. Humming to himself, the old man then whisked away what was left of the catch toward the tackle box.
The three of them continued in a similar fashion throughout the day as the sun slowly wound its way across the sky. If it had been later in the season, the heat would have been a menace. Today however, the ship's deck was warmed just slightly. Slowly, the quantity of their catch built up and the rate at which they pulled fish in went down. Petre signaled that it was time to move on. Before they did so however, Rynata remembered to retrieve her trap. Pulling on the line, she could already tell that something had been lured in by the bait. When the box surfaced, she caught the dull red gleam of a shell. Several shells. It seemed her luck hadn't run out on her after all. A trio of lobsters were squeezed into the contraption, their many legs waving about as they jostled for space. Unlatching the trap, she emptied them into a closed section of the tackle box. However, she caught and tossed out the smallest bottom feeder as it made its way down. The lobster, which had been more the size of an overgrown shrimp landed in the water and drifted down. Musing that it must have been relieved, Rynata bounded off to help the others who had decided to set course for a new location.
While it was all very well that she had been offered a temporary job, she couldn't sail out until she had located her employer, which she hadn't managed to do yet. It was a little concerning then that some of the boats around her were already drifting away to their fishing spots. She briefly wondered if she was posted in a bad place for people to spot her and if her employers were having a hard time catching sight of her. The grey light of early morning probably wasn't the best lighting, either. However, before she could entertain notions of waving down a passerby for help, two figures approached her. One of them an old man with deep age lines cutting across his features. The other was a man about her age, not looking entirely happy to be there. They both carried their own set of supplies and looked to be locals. The elderly man grinned at Rynata and uttered a string of words that sounded vaguely familiar but whipped by too fast for her to comprehend them.
"Sorry?" Her eyes widened at the phrases she couldn't quite piece together into meaning.
"He says, 'nice ship'." The younger of the pair spoke up sounding almost impatient. "I assume you're here for the job notice we put out."
"Oh, Thank you!" Rynata smiled at the old man, not really sure if he spoke Common, but relatively confident that her sentiment would be obvious. "And yes, the ship and I are at your disposal today. We're ready to sail at anytime."
The old man had already hoisted up the equipment the two had brought with them and had shuffled onto the Gilded Siren. Gazing after him, Rynata got the sense that this was just business as usual for him. He had probably lived this life for longer than she had begun to walk let alone sail. Her attention was called back by the young man's sudden comment.
"Pirate Tongue."
"What?"
"He speaks Scalveen. We call that Pirate Tongue. He can probably use Common but I think he's just never bothered." For the man's short tone and unsmiling expression, he was still rather forthcoming. Perhaps he needed to be because of the language barrier his work partner insisted upon shouldering. Still, Rynata took that as a sign of friendliness under a prickly exterior.
"Are you two related?" she asked, extending a hand to help carry the supplies on board. She was waved away but the man muttered a reply.
"He's my grandfather. Petre. And I'm Stefan."
"Rynata," she introduced herself with a steady smile. Helping Petre cast off before he did it all himself, she looked over her shoulder and asked, "I'm surprised you don't have a boat of your own. I got the impression that you two have been in the trade for a while." Petre, who was standing next to her, gave a dry chuckle and launched into the oddly familiar language once more. She caught on that some of the words were in Rakahi, but curiously warped. Meanwhile, the grandfather was giving his grandson a mercilessly teasing look under which Stefan quickly turned red. He spluttered a few Scalveen words of his own all the while making motions for the older man to keep quiet.
"He says to keep a straight course out of here. He'll let you know when to stop." His next words directed at her almost sounded angry, but combined with the blush lingering around his ears, he looked more flustered than anything. Besides, Rynata had a feeling that wasn't what Petre had been talking about at all. Deciding against pushing against the matter, but thoroughly amused, she followed Stefan's instructions out of the port and toward their point. Conversation lulled down as she concentrated on steering. After all, it was rather difficult to maintain a steady course. Though the concept was simple enough, the waves and wind would buffet the craft little by little away from the imagined path. Minute adjustments were needed to ensure an accurately calculated arrival. Only a few more words were exchanged between the other two, and this time it seemed to be just that.
After a short cruise off the coast, Petre eventually waved her down and signaled for her to lower the anchor. Apparently, this was to be their first stop. Rynata loosened the anchor into the waters which were shallow enough to allow for such a thing. This gave her some ideas for later. In the distance she spotted some other ships that must have been with them before in Havardr. They were indistinct black shadows on the waters but she could still see people moving about on each deck, busy casting lines and nets. Aboard the Gilded Siren, Petre and Stefan also got to work with the fishing nets. They scattered some bait off the side of the ship as well as hooked small pieces onto their nets. Taking that as a sign that she should make herself useful, Rynata fetched the trap box. If the waters were shallow she might be able to snag something interesting sneaking along the ocean floor. In her family, it had often been the children's duty as well as their game to set traps. Hopefully her luck at this would continue away from them.
Rigging the box with some odorous bait, she attached a line to the contraption and carefully lowered it off the stern. The trap box wavered out of sight, emitting some large bubbles as it went. She would check on it after a while. For now, she joined the other two in casting nets. They had already come up with a collection of fish. Most of them were mackerel, a streamlined species whose scales shimmered a blueish silver.
If she remembered rightly, the end of net that had the line coiled around the arm. She would need to hold onto it as the rest was thrown out over the water. Drawing her arm back, she allowed the net to slip out of her grasp with the momentum. The throw would have gone well, but something snagged and the material folded in on itself, fluttering uselessly down only a short distance from the ship. Whoops. This was a bit rich coming from a fisherman's daughter. Though come to think of it, her father hadn't always been tied to that profession. Still, now she was faced with the troublesome task of reeling back the failed attempt. As she wound up for another attempt, Petre stepped closer, shaking his head. He reached out and adjusted the net around her hand. Looking pleased as if to say this was the correct way, he coaxed her into casting out the net once more. This time, the net fanned out like it was meant to, landing in the water with a soft splash. Petre helped tug in what amounted to a handful of fish. Rynata joined him in tossing out the smallest of them, sifting through the small scaly pile. Humming to himself, the old man then whisked away what was left of the catch toward the tackle box.
The three of them continued in a similar fashion throughout the day as the sun slowly wound its way across the sky. If it had been later in the season, the heat would have been a menace. Today however, the ship's deck was warmed just slightly. Slowly, the quantity of their catch built up and the rate at which they pulled fish in went down. Petre signaled that it was time to move on. Before they did so however, Rynata remembered to retrieve her trap. Pulling on the line, she could already tell that something had been lured in by the bait. When the box surfaced, she caught the dull red gleam of a shell. Several shells. It seemed her luck hadn't run out on her after all. A trio of lobsters were squeezed into the contraption, their many legs waving about as they jostled for space. Unlatching the trap, she emptied them into a closed section of the tackle box. However, she caught and tossed out the smallest bottom feeder as it made its way down. The lobster, which had been more the size of an overgrown shrimp landed in the water and drifted down. Musing that it must have been relieved, Rynata bounded off to help the others who had decided to set course for a new location.
1530 words
