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Old 11-03-2005, 08:59 AM   #38
Folwren
Messenger of Hope
 
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Join Date: Jun 2005
Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.
Posts: 5,228
Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
The mainstay sail slackened and fluttered slightly. The captain's eyes caught the movement and he watched it keenly. For a moment, it bulged obediently, but then fell slack and limp again.

“Top man!” Hereric called, walking towards the rail. “Take in that mainsail. Bregin, mend your course.”

“Yes, sir,” the man at the wheel said, rather apologetically. He kept his gaze ahead, though was certainly very aware of the Hereric’s quick, sharp glance. The captain’s poor humor was felt by everybody. His very stance showed him to be as stiff and uncomfortable as a boy in a roomful of girls. No one cared to run the risk of his anger.

The mainstay sail was quickly adjusted to where it was supposed to be and once again she billowed out prettily with the others. Hereric nodded with satisfaction and turned and walked back towards the stern. The Gondorian fleet spread out behind them like so many white birds. It was a fine sight, the white sails spread widely and reflecting the bright sunlight from above. Captain Hereric smiled grimly and turned to look back over his own ship.

His eyes clapped to a young man stepping out from the cookery forward. In his hands he held a bucket of ash. Hereric watched with amusement as the boy went to the leeward rail. Clearly, the young man was new to the ship. Brand new. The ash left the bucket in a strong, confident fling towards the water, but it came back almost at the same instant, over the immaculate deck and into the poor recruit’s face.

Captain Hereric didn’t have to say a word as the bosun leaped on the sad, but rather honest mistake. It happened at least once to every new man aboard ship who helped the Cook. Take the ashes, or slops (which was worse), windward and he’d have a mess on his hands. There were several sharp words given before the unfortunate young man could rush into the safety of the galley again and then a group of swabbers were called up on deck and before five minutes had passed, the place was set to rights and looked as though nothing had happened.

“By jove,” Hereric muttered to himself, containing in his chest a quiet chuckle. “I should appoint new men to the galley every voyage just for the show.” Of course, he didn’t really mean it. It was humor at another’s expense, and he knew it. But he wondered if the old Cook himself didn’t have a hand in it. One would think that the experienced fellow would give his assistants some advise as to which rail to toss the remains of the fire over.
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