76 Ashan, 709, Late afternoon
Docks of Ne’Haer
The late Ashan afternoon was crisp and breezy, with the wind particularly strong over the water, whipping sails and making the rigging dance on the other ships around the docks. Most of the vessels were well-worn, with a small sloop nestled among them, out of place being shiny and new but still without sails and rigging. The sun was casting long shadows and golden light, if only because the evening was slowly creeping along the horizon where the sky met the Orm’del sea.
The small ship’s deck wasn’t sanded yet, much less coated properly for protection against the waves, but the sloop was afloat, finally. The hull had been painted and sealed with a rusty orange, but a bold white stripe was visible just above the waterline that washed lazily in the harbor where the unfinished vessel had been moved to the docks for the rest of its construction, mainly because Traek had found his repair queue far too full this season to keep personal projects in the way of business. No name had been given to the small vessel yet, although the young man who it would come to belong to had named it long before the first boards had even been shaped. Moving it from the shipyard had been a difficult choice, but one that Pash agreed to, their building of his sloop together a work of love instead of just for nel, though it was still a bittersweet task.
The skies had been clear for a few trials, and so the father and son pair had slipped away early from their work on other vessels in the shipyard to the docks like children shirking responsibilities in order to go play on the beach. They laughed at old jokes, Traek somewhat becoming nostalgic as he told stories about Pash’s precocious childhood just to embarrass the young man while they lugged two rolls of sailcloth between them along with ropes and tools. It was heavy, slow going, but they kept each other entertained and amused—
"Immortals, da, there’s some stories that’re really worth me not remembering." Pash smirked, rolling his lagoon blue eyes as they carefully began to load their cargo up the gangplank in order to get the sloop rigged for sailing. They’d bring it back to the shipyard in a trial or two to finish the deck, once one of the dry docks was open again, and there was still plenty of work to be done in the cabin to make the sloop livable.
"It’s not a bad thing to have the whole story," Traek teased, his expression mischievous as a grin creased its way into his well-weathered features, "even yours. Puts things in perspective, you know, qu’oat."
The young man laughed, the two at least sharing a common humor despite how the arcs had proven they did not share too many similar passions. While Pash had now worked alongside his father in his shipyard for nearly eleven arcs in various capacities, the man having all but raised the boy with a hammer in his hand from the time he was seven, if only because it was quickly clear the Ne’Haer formal education system would not contain him, he’d come to realize that he didn’t quite receive the same satisfaction in seeing a completed vessel on the water as Traek did. No, his creativity blossomed elsewhere, in music and song and dance—trivial things, his father would say in his rare but sour moments—and what pleased the young Biqaj the most had over the arcs become pleasing others, entertaining them. Not building ships.
And so this sloop was to be his last—his.
"I’ll give you that." Pash offered even as their hands together began to make quick work of the rigging, dropping the folded sailcloth onto the unsanded deck before both of them began to organize the ropes and lines needed to get everything hung and ready properly. He took the ropes his father handed him and began to climb the mast, shimmying up the single pole as if he were climbing a slim tree, using his bare feet, knees, and hands with the rope over his shoulder. He’d have to get everything arranged just right for the mainsail to raise and lower smoothly with the pulleys and such, "But you're going to have to trade me a story about when you were that young, lest I come to believe you never were."
The small ship’s deck wasn’t sanded yet, much less coated properly for protection against the waves, but the sloop was afloat, finally. The hull had been painted and sealed with a rusty orange, but a bold white stripe was visible just above the waterline that washed lazily in the harbor where the unfinished vessel had been moved to the docks for the rest of its construction, mainly because Traek had found his repair queue far too full this season to keep personal projects in the way of business. No name had been given to the small vessel yet, although the young man who it would come to belong to had named it long before the first boards had even been shaped. Moving it from the shipyard had been a difficult choice, but one that Pash agreed to, their building of his sloop together a work of love instead of just for nel, though it was still a bittersweet task.
The skies had been clear for a few trials, and so the father and son pair had slipped away early from their work on other vessels in the shipyard to the docks like children shirking responsibilities in order to go play on the beach. They laughed at old jokes, Traek somewhat becoming nostalgic as he told stories about Pash’s precocious childhood just to embarrass the young man while they lugged two rolls of sailcloth between them along with ropes and tools. It was heavy, slow going, but they kept each other entertained and amused—
"Immortals, da, there’s some stories that’re really worth me not remembering." Pash smirked, rolling his lagoon blue eyes as they carefully began to load their cargo up the gangplank in order to get the sloop rigged for sailing. They’d bring it back to the shipyard in a trial or two to finish the deck, once one of the dry docks was open again, and there was still plenty of work to be done in the cabin to make the sloop livable.
"It’s not a bad thing to have the whole story," Traek teased, his expression mischievous as a grin creased its way into his well-weathered features, "even yours. Puts things in perspective, you know, qu’oat."
The young man laughed, the two at least sharing a common humor despite how the arcs had proven they did not share too many similar passions. While Pash had now worked alongside his father in his shipyard for nearly eleven arcs in various capacities, the man having all but raised the boy with a hammer in his hand from the time he was seven, if only because it was quickly clear the Ne’Haer formal education system would not contain him, he’d come to realize that he didn’t quite receive the same satisfaction in seeing a completed vessel on the water as Traek did. No, his creativity blossomed elsewhere, in music and song and dance—trivial things, his father would say in his rare but sour moments—and what pleased the young Biqaj the most had over the arcs become pleasing others, entertaining them. Not building ships.
And so this sloop was to be his last—his.
"I’ll give you that." Pash offered even as their hands together began to make quick work of the rigging, dropping the folded sailcloth onto the unsanded deck before both of them began to organize the ropes and lines needed to get everything hung and ready properly. He took the ropes his father handed him and began to climb the mast, shimmying up the single pole as if he were climbing a slim tree, using his bare feet, knees, and hands with the rope over his shoulder. He’d have to get everything arranged just right for the mainsail to raise and lower smoothly with the pulleys and such, "But you're going to have to trade me a story about when you were that young, lest I come to believe you never were."
