3rd of Saun 721
The prior season had been uneventful, but for some business in Eureka and have a chance and very lucky meeting with his associate, Faith Augustin. She’d healed the gash in his shoulder and probably saved his arm into the bargain. He owed her much, and in fact, considered her part paid in more than full. In fact, he owed her now. Which was a precarious place to be in, as an espoused servant of Chamadarst.
Nevertheless, he was content for a while, if a little bored while a shipwright built him a new vessel. He had no shortage of people willing to hear his story, about the unlucky storm and whale that had blown apart his sloop. In fact, it was getting almost to be a routine, to recite the story every night. People came by word of mouth, some seeking to get a glimpse of the strangely fated sailor who’d survived the sinking of a ship, and a leviathan attack. Or else men who had things to sell him. It was a healthy mix of people with various interests, but no interest in joining hi in a hunt for the damned beast.
His schooner would be arriving soon. He’d received word from the shipwright that it was on its way down the Zynyx, and would come within ten trials. This was lucky news, but with such a small crew as it was between his loyalists. Between Bones, Oreq, Eairok, Mirq, and… no not Noille. Rorom wouldn’t risk bringing her along, lest she fell into trouble. He simply needed more men to toss spears and javelins and other missiles. He needed more combat-ready hunters. But the pickings were slim.
Yet, he felt obliged to tell the story night after night. It was a way of singing for his supper. Although he still plied the shores of the Zynyx for clams, fish, and generally just put his hunting and fishing skills to use in the village to make ends meet, the free beers that came with the stories were always welcome, and so were the cigars and glances of female admirers.
Not that Rorom had time for the latter, but it was nice to know that he wasn’t so old that he couldn’t catch the eye of a dark-haired beauty.
He was in one of the watering holes of Zynyx market, when Dria walked in. She spotted Rorom and waved. He nodded to her and slid his cup of beer across the bar. Once she caught it, she took up the seat next to him. They conversed in Rakahi, ”So, Gray,” Her nickname for him was a playful jibe, aimed at his prematurely, fully gray hair. Rorom didn’t mind it. ”Have you found anyone suicidal enough to meet your friend, the black whale?”
Rorom smirked, and tapped the bar, indicating to the server that he wanted one for himself. ”Nay, nobody has the nerve to join me.” Rorom grumbled.
She elbowed him in the ribs, ”I can always arrange for some seasoned hunters to fill out your crew, you know I’ve told you…”
”I’m not looking for mercenaries.” Rorom was given his drink by the server, and then took a sip of the frothy liquid. ”I want people who have a passion for adventure, and enterprise enough to see that whale dead before it wrecks anymore ships. Whatever happened to comradery on the open seas? The thirst for riches that you pull from the sea with your own bare hands? Not these shiny nels, as pretty as they be.”
Dria had been taking a long drink while she listened to Rorom bemoan his fortune or lack thereof. She set the cup down once she’d had her fill, of it and of his misery. She patted him on the shoulder, the one that’d recently healed. Rorom winced. ”Mister Rorom, you know where to find me, if you want to hire some professionals. You can’t hunt whales alone, after all.”
Rorom watched her get up and walk away, and shrugged, emptying the rest of his cup into his throat. Placing it on the counter once more, he shook his head, ” Blither and blather. There’s got to be some men out there, who’ve still got the lust for adventure and honest work.”
And of course, Rorom would pay them a fair wage. But the prices demanded by Dria’s hunters was exorbitant. Chamadarst would shake in his gilded boots if he knew that his servant had paid them to bag the whale when he was perfectly capable of leading a party himself.
So the night went as it had for several tentrials past. Rorom stood beside a fire, talking to several acerbic and retired salts, who were thirsty for another telling of the great beast that had sunk Rorom’s vessel. The men smelled of tobacco smoke and rum. Rorom didn’t mind though, the tobacco smoke was half the attraction of gathering around the fire to tell stories. That and the free drinks. ”So, I were on the estuary southwest o’this here river. My men and I had been tracking a pod of beluga on from as far as halfway from Rynmerish waters, maybe as far as Viden.” Rorom puffed on a pipe that a man lent him, nodding in thanks to him.
”Now, you know hunting whales is long and lean work, and yer can expect ter be out for sea seasons at a time before yer see one whale. But I have a nose for these beasts…” Rorom kept a lid on the fact that he was a mage, and could somewhat sense motions through the elements. It was always good to keep a few secrets, and the fact that he was a witch was highly qualified to be secret. ”Anyway, we saw red skies in the morning, a sailor’s folly to be setting sail during that but it were too late to put to shore before the tempest was upon us.” Rorom breathed in some smoke, and grunted, ”Chrien didn’t give us no luck from it. The storm wasn’t the worst, I might’ve made it through.”
Here, Rorom paused for effect, and then gesticulated. Suddenly, the flames flared up around the campfire, almost unbidden. Rorom’s eyes flew wide as he made the fire dance slightly, lifting high up into the air. He had to try and tamp down on the sensation, reaching deep within to convince the flames to calm the Beneath down. Some of the men marvelled at the effect, perhaps thinking it was part of his act. Little did they suspect his magery. Soon enough, however, Rorom managed to coax the flame to die down to normal levels. He breathed a sigh, ”Had that smiling behemoth not smashed my ship, from starboard to port, splitting the ship’s keel lumber, I might’ve gotten free to port. It were a big whale, a bowhead. With baleen teeth like a slaver whip, and hide as black as Chrien’s teeth.”
He shook his head. ”Well like I say, it came down on me. Thank U’frek I were the only one on me ship, and I’m a strong swimmer, with a bit o’luck. I managed to get me up to the surface without being pulled behind me ship. I found my lone longboat that I’d cut off its moorings before the crash. There, I laid until after the storm, when my former apprentice, Eairok came on his ship, The Lucky Bird to find me adrift on a longboat that was all that remained of my own fleet. Thank U’frek for kindness returned.”
He’d told the story to Faith Augustin as well, almost to the letter the same as he’d said it to her. Many of the men around the fire were dumbstruck, both by the elemental display of fury as he recounted his tale, and then by the conclusion of the tale. Then they did as expected, and having heard the story milled away from him. All except one of them. The man was missing a leg, and had a left hand that curled, tensed into a perpetual fist. He gave Rorom a wild and crazy look as he breathed in the smoke of his pipeleaf.
Rorom’s eyebrows lifted at him, ”Well? I don’t suppose you want to hear the tale again?”
The old man smirked, and shook his head, ”It’s a story I’ve heard many a time. But rarely told by one to survive the beast’s onslaught… Yer part of a very exclusive club, Rorom Nji’Ihai.” This said, he took his cane in the other hand, and tapped his wooden leg. ”I’d see yer chase this beast down, and I know just where to look…”
Rorom quirked a brow uncertainly at this man, who was so clearly invested in the story. Perhaps too much. But then, nobody else was knocking down Rorom’s door to get a ride on his boat, and seek out the monster.
He agreed to let the old man try his sea legs on his new ship the next day, to hunt down the black beast. May Chrien avert her eyes.
