Spoopy Scary
ButtsnBalls
Naril‘’You see, you can trust the sea to be treacherous – it can carry you, and then suddenly not, it’s got no footing, it’s got no sense of consistency. You’re always on edge at sea – it’s a rougher experience compared to land. You’ve got to bear sunburns, you’ve got to bear scurvy, you’ve got to bear hands ripped from pulling ropes, you’ve got to bear the pirates and the shitty food, and you’ve got to bear the burping, and so on. Terra firma is quite the welcoming experience afterwards. And that’s why earthquakes are so devastating, in my opinion – it is not merely destructive, but it’s also possibly felt as some sort of betrayal. The sea’s much more hospitable cousin suddenly lashing at you and you can’t do anything about it.’’
The old Dunmer was used to the treacherous sea and its capricious, constantly changing demeanor. Like a neurotic mother, the sea either ignored the creatures of the land and their new, floating companions used to cut contact with the sea, only stirring occasionally to express its discomfort, or just outright smashed at the crafts used to carry men, lashing waves to tear off sails and make it no longer dependable, and violently moving to drop men overboard back into its grand embrace, where they had once come from.
He had experienced firsthand how unable to let go the sea was – years ago, off the coast of Woodhearth, when their battered carrack was finally shattered in half by the waves and the winds, Sadri had ended up in the salty water, and his body, riddled with nails, reopened lesions and splinters of wood, had sizzled as if it were thrown into fire, thanks to the saltwater coming in contact with all the wounds. Like a hungry snake trying to swallow its prey whole, the waves had crashed one by one upon Sadri, trying to pull him down. And days later, when he had woken up in a hut, under a pile of what seemed to be the remains of his late comrades, he had realized that he had cheated death. He still remembered the looks on the faces of the mer who had saved him, with half fascination, thanks to witnessing someone ‘come back from the dead’, and half frustration, thanks to the fact that what was meant to be their Morndas meal had now become a guest of the household. Sadri had left for civilization very quickly despite his condition, not wishing to prolong his stay and make his ‘saviors’ change their minds.
And now, here he was, once again on a ship rocked by waves, once again on a job that would have him risk his life. ‘’Time moves forward; but nothing changes,’’ Sadri thought to himself as he watched his compatriots drop canoes into the water for smoother advancement, while taking small huffs from his pipe. He had stripped himself of his boots and his armor, given the likelihood of falling into the sea or having to swim, and now, gritting his teeth against the cold air with only a short sleeved baggy shirt, breeches, a vest, a sash and a bandana serving as protection from the cold, he felt like a caricature of his younger days as sailor. He took another huff from his pipe, held firmly with his good hand. ‘’At least I still have my pipe,’’ he thought to himself.
A gust of wind suddenly sent his bandana flying off his head, and Sadri instinctively reached for it with his good hand, barely grasping it. He commended himself mentally for still having good reflexes, and then brought his pipe to his mouth again, only to realize he no longer held it. For a moment, he blinked, and saw the pipe rolling down the side of the deck. He opened his mouth to object, as if it would listen, but before he could say anything, let alone make a sound, the pipe fell overboard, making an almost inaudible ‘plop’.
Sadri took a deep breath. Once again, he opened his mouth to say something, but then, didn’t bother, and simply shook his head in disapproval. If anyone could see his eyes at that moment, they could actually see joy drain from them, and even pinpoint the exact moment when he lost a part of his will to live.
And in the Spiral Skein, Mephala’s terrific laughing echoed throughout, sending horror coursing through its inhuman inhabitants, who, even in their evil forms, pitied the one whose suffering was complete enough to provide amusement for the Webspinner.
The old Dunmer was used to the treacherous sea and its capricious, constantly changing demeanor. Like a neurotic mother, the sea either ignored the creatures of the land and their new, floating companions used to cut contact with the sea, only stirring occasionally to express its discomfort, or just outright smashed at the crafts used to carry men, lashing waves to tear off sails and make it no longer dependable, and violently moving to drop men overboard back into its grand embrace, where they had once come from.
He had experienced firsthand how unable to let go the sea was – years ago, off the coast of Woodhearth, when their battered carrack was finally shattered in half by the waves and the winds, Sadri had ended up in the salty water, and his body, riddled with nails, reopened lesions and splinters of wood, had sizzled as if it were thrown into fire, thanks to the saltwater coming in contact with all the wounds. Like a hungry snake trying to swallow its prey whole, the waves had crashed one by one upon Sadri, trying to pull him down. And days later, when he had woken up in a hut, under a pile of what seemed to be the remains of his late comrades, he had realized that he had cheated death. He still remembered the looks on the faces of the mer who had saved him, with half fascination, thanks to witnessing someone ‘come back from the dead’, and half frustration, thanks to the fact that what was meant to be their Morndas meal had now become a guest of the household. Sadri had left for civilization very quickly despite his condition, not wishing to prolong his stay and make his ‘saviors’ change their minds.
And now, here he was, once again on a ship rocked by waves, once again on a job that would have him risk his life. ‘’Time moves forward; but nothing changes,’’ Sadri thought to himself as he watched his compatriots drop canoes into the water for smoother advancement, while taking small huffs from his pipe. He had stripped himself of his boots and his armor, given the likelihood of falling into the sea or having to swim, and now, gritting his teeth against the cold air with only a short sleeved baggy shirt, breeches, a vest, a sash and a bandana serving as protection from the cold, he felt like a caricature of his younger days as sailor. He took another huff from his pipe, held firmly with his good hand. ‘’At least I still have my pipe,’’ he thought to himself.
A gust of wind suddenly sent his bandana flying off his head, and Sadri instinctively reached for it with his good hand, barely grasping it. He commended himself mentally for still having good reflexes, and then brought his pipe to his mouth again, only to realize he no longer held it. For a moment, he blinked, and saw the pipe rolling down the side of the deck. He opened his mouth to object, as if it would listen, but before he could say anything, let alone make a sound, the pipe fell overboard, making an almost inaudible ‘plop’.
Sadri took a deep breath. Once again, he opened his mouth to say something, but then, didn’t bother, and simply shook his head in disapproval. If anyone could see his eyes at that moment, they could actually see joy drain from them, and even pinpoint the exact moment when he lost a part of his will to live.
And in the Spiral Skein, Mephala’s terrific laughing echoed throughout, sending horror coursing through its inhuman inhabitants, who, even in their evil forms, pitied the one whose suffering was complete enough to provide amusement for the Webspinner.