Arc 721, 4th of Cylus
The anchor crashed into the water, the heavy chain it was attached to rattling against the metal frame of the hawse hole, but it didn't take long for the chain to reach a standstill, indicating that they were in shallow waters. A collective cheer rose from the crew and refugees, though it was a weary one filled with trepidation, for even from the coast, it was clear that the challenge before them was immense.
Faldrass towered over them, but the island bore scars. Some would most likely take arcs to heal; some might not heal at all.
Darius could sense a collective apprehension run through the refugees. In the wake of the eruption, some had fled the island without once looking back. For some, this was their first glimpse of the 'new' Faldrass, and perhaps a reality check regarding just how difficult they could expect resettling the island to be.
The seafarer looked over his shoulder, and nearby his brig was also dropping anchor. The Libertalia had shadowed them for the entire journey, with Astra in command, and he could see her on the prow. The pair briefly shared a wave, before he saw the half-biqaj woman shouting instructions to his crew.
It was time for Darius to do the same.
"Sons and daughters of Faldrass!" he addressed the group, hoping to find some words to inspire.
He was a leader, but had never been much of a speaker. It was clearly something he would need to work on.
"The easiest task is behind us. We are here, now. You may not recognise it yet, but this is the home you have toiled over your entire lives. I truly believe that if we gift him our sweat and blood, he will reward us for our labour."
The refugees, he realised, wouldn't know that the 'he' being referred to was not simply the island, but a powerful spirit, but that did not matter. If they toiled hard enough, there would be rewards all the same. Of that, he was certain.
Satisfied with his oratory efforts - or, rather, recognising that they were what they were, and there was no point trying to be something he was not (yet) - Darius began to issue instructions. The rowboat was to be lowered and some of the refugees would start to make the journey to the island. The remaining Faldrass returnees, including the bearded blond himself, would ready the supplies to be ferried from the ship. Looking back to his own ship, the bearded blond could see that his personal rowboat, the Lady Jean, was already being rowed towards them, and so there would soon be two boats to ferry supplies and survivors to Faldrass.
Perhaps because he was better at leading with actions than words, or perhaps because they were simply eager to get started, the refugees began to carry out his instructions, and people and goods began to make their way across to the island.
The next step, Darius realised, would be to find a suitable location to set up camp.
Faldrass towered over them, but the island bore scars. Some would most likely take arcs to heal; some might not heal at all.
Darius could sense a collective apprehension run through the refugees. In the wake of the eruption, some had fled the island without once looking back. For some, this was their first glimpse of the 'new' Faldrass, and perhaps a reality check regarding just how difficult they could expect resettling the island to be.
The seafarer looked over his shoulder, and nearby his brig was also dropping anchor. The Libertalia had shadowed them for the entire journey, with Astra in command, and he could see her on the prow. The pair briefly shared a wave, before he saw the half-biqaj woman shouting instructions to his crew.
It was time for Darius to do the same.
"Sons and daughters of Faldrass!" he addressed the group, hoping to find some words to inspire.
He was a leader, but had never been much of a speaker. It was clearly something he would need to work on.
"The easiest task is behind us. We are here, now. You may not recognise it yet, but this is the home you have toiled over your entire lives. I truly believe that if we gift him our sweat and blood, he will reward us for our labour."
The refugees, he realised, wouldn't know that the 'he' being referred to was not simply the island, but a powerful spirit, but that did not matter. If they toiled hard enough, there would be rewards all the same. Of that, he was certain.
Satisfied with his oratory efforts - or, rather, recognising that they were what they were, and there was no point trying to be something he was not (yet) - Darius began to issue instructions. The rowboat was to be lowered and some of the refugees would start to make the journey to the island. The remaining Faldrass returnees, including the bearded blond himself, would ready the supplies to be ferried from the ship. Looking back to his own ship, the bearded blond could see that his personal rowboat, the Lady Jean, was already being rowed towards them, and so there would soon be two boats to ferry supplies and survivors to Faldrass.
Perhaps because he was better at leading with actions than words, or perhaps because they were simply eager to get started, the refugees began to carry out his instructions, and people and goods began to make their way across to the island.
The next step, Darius realised, would be to find a suitable location to set up camp.