This is an excerpt of something I've got brewing in me noggin'. Who knows if it'll ever be finished, but hey, at least I'm happy with this much of it. I'm going to try to write some more today. We'll see how it goes...
As always, I'm happy to hear some constructive criticism.
The Nightjar floated steadily through the mountain valley, its deck awash in moonlight. The ship’s white, domed sail caught the light, giving it the appearance of a miniature half moon hovering just above the airship. The deck, quiet and nearly empty this early in the morning, was shared only by Otoro on the foredeck and another aeromancer in the pilot seat, which was backlit by the soft light emanating through the windows of the Captain’s cabin.
Otoro stood at the bow for a moment, hands gripping the rail and eyes closed, and allowed the brisk mountain air to flow over his wiry frame. It ruffled his brown beard and clothing. Many would have found the cold uncomfortable, but he enjoyed the feeling; it reminded him that he was alive. He inhaled deeply and could distinguish, very faintly, the smell of the Forest that lay ahead. He smiled. He lived for these moments, standing alone in the moonlight, the only sound that of the wind blowing by his ears, punctuated by an occasional flap of the sail.
Otoro opened his eyes, lifted his looking glass and scanned the far end of the valley. He’d made the voyage so many times that he knew precisely where they were and how long it would be until they reached their destination. He could be asleep in his modest cabin, enjoying the deep sleep of one whose world consists of little more than a reflexive routine, but this was how things were done. Being First Mate did not allow him the luxury of ignoring the rules. If anything, it meant that he must follow them to the letter. He believed in leading by example, for how could he expect the crew to act properly if he didn’t do so himself?
He finally spotted what he knew was already there. Just at the edge of sight, at the back of the valley, was a large, dark mass floating in the sky, its crown dappled with faint, flickering lights. Otoro gave a pleased grunt, collapsed the looking glass and strode aft.
“Continue on this heading,” he told the pilot, Ganda, as he approached the pilot’s seat situated under the sails. “We’ll arrive in two hours, with the dawn. Then you can take some rest.”
“Aye, sir. Though I’m more interested in grub than sleep. Piloting awakens a fierce hunger inside me,” replied Ganda in a deep, weather-beaten baritone. “Besides, I sleep better on a full belly.”
“Then it’s clear that you sleep well most nights,” Otoro said with a chuckle as he passed Ganda and slapped the pilot on his broad back.
Ganda uttered a sharp bark of laughter in response. “That I do,” he said as he patted his large belly. He adjusted himself in the chair, attempting to find a more comfortable position for the last leg of the journey, chuckling softly to himself.
Otoro stopped at the door to the Captain’s cabin and knocked, three quick taps.
“Enter!”
Otoro opened the door and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and strode toward the pool of light in the far right corner, which contained Captain Rouen at his desk.
“Another two hours then, Otoro?” asked the Captain.
“Yes, sir. I can just see the lights of the Inn from here,” said Otoro.
“Excellent.” Rouen laced his fingers together and stretched his muscular arms, cracking his knuckles loudly. “Make sure to give Ganda a few extra rands when you pay him. He did well to get us through the passes unscathed. It’s always dangerous up here at this time of year, but I can’t recall the last time I experienced winds like last night’s.”
“Nor I,” said Otoro.
“If Driftwood wasn’t so damn lucrative I’d say ‘Damn it all’ and avoid the Ring Range altogether,” said Rouen. “Mountain flying is risky business.”
“You’ll pardon me if I don’t buy that, sir,” said Otoro with a wry smile. “You say that every time we’re up here, but I think you enjoy the risk.”
Captain Rouen grinned roguishly. “Aye, maybe I do at that. Certainly keeps you on your toes, eh?”
“Without a doubt,” said Otoro. He hesitated, his smile fading. “Sir, about Hana…”
Rouen sighed. “What’s he done now?” he asked.
“It’s not what he’s done, so much as what he hasn’t done,” replied Otoro. “I ordered him to clear the debris from that rockslide off of the aft deck, but he refused. He insists that such menial tasks are beneath a warrior such as himself. I ordered him to his bunk, and he obeyed, but grudgingly. He’s getting out of control.”
“I hadn’t realized that accosting the old and defenseless made one a warrior. How times change.” Captain Rouen shook his head. “I’d have never let him set foot on the Nightjar if Sendra hadn’t taken ill. Next time I’ll take the proper time to find a replacement, and to hell with being late.” He scratched at his black beard in annoyance. “I’ll talk to him. He’ll do as he’s told if he wants to leave these mountains with the rest of us. Of course, if he doesn’t tread lightly around Filth he may end up getting punted off the Forest.”
“Ah, don’t tempt me with such wonderful visions,” said Otoro, his smile returning. “I think I’d give my last rand to see that.” His brown eyes crinkled in delight.
“You may get to see it for free. You know Filth; he doesn’t suffer fools for long,” said the Captain with a laugh. “In fact, why not start a pool? Five rands says Filth has him begging for mercy within five hours.”
Otoro laughed heartily, his body shaking with mirth. “It’s a bet. I reckon it’ll be no more than two.” And, still chuckling, he turned for the door.
“One last thing,” Captain Rouen called after him. “Tell Ganda that I’ll dock the ship. I could use the fresh air, and a little aeromancy before breakfast never hurts.”
“Aye, sir. I’m sure Ganda would agree with that.” Otoro left the cabin, closing the door soundlessly and headed back to the pilot’s chair to relay the message.
--Gryffindork
*Copyright Gryffindork; I'll fucking destroy you if you ever steal any of my shit.
