<font color=darkred face=cambria><I>the sea at dawn is a cathedral</i></font> {arthur}

the sea at dawn is a cathedral {arthur}
IP: 66.208.250.154
Posted on August 20, 2014 at 02:30:44 AM by rohmarr

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I am not a religious man in the typical sense. Though I often accompanied my parents to sacred events devoted to their individual patron deities, and though I took part in some of the rituals superstitious seafaring folk used to ward against mishaps and mayhem, I never felt the passion and faith that others seemed to. No, my gods were the sea and the salt, the wind and the waves, and the freedom, ah, that glorious feeling that all the world was out there, just waiting for me to leave my mark on untouched shores. I thrived in the wickedness, in the wildness, and for a long time I dedicated myself to them and to my crew. I scrapped and stole and bled and lied my way to the top, carving out my niche with single-minded purpose. I felt invincible, unstoppable. But luck is a fickle mistress, her precarious moods shifting as quickly as the tides, and in one fell swoop my world was turned upside down. My life became one of stifling darkness broken only by the flickering and fading torchlight, the skittering of tiny claws across cold stones reminding us all that death loomed in the shadows.

Each breath of clean air unblemished by the taint of unwashed bodies and misery is one I am grateful for. Each step I take on legs that have remembered how to walk steady and unfaltering is a gift. I will forever bear the ugly marks of my incarceration, but my true transformation has been something far less tangible. I have been granted the opportunity to seek forgiveness, to redeem myself and release the tortured souls of my crewmates, and it is one I cannot waste. Though the passion still boils hot and fierce inside me, the focus is no longer on the potential for wickedness, nor on my own selfishness. I see the path to forgiveness stretching out before me and I vow to follow it as best a mortal man can. Today, my journey begins.

I dress carefully in the misty light of dawn. Most of my clothing is worn, secondhand items I was able to obtain for next to nothing, but such garb is not appropriate when one is meeting with a king. The men used to tease me for my sewing abilities - until they needed their own clothing mended, of course - and I can almost hear Davy's voice taunting me as I drew on the dark tunic and breeches I'd crafted with my own two hands. The memories cause me to smile slightly, a vague tip upwards at the left corner of my mouth, but the humor and affection is dulled by the grief. He'd been just a lad, only sixteen, when they marched him to the gallows. Oh, he'd strutted up those steps like a peacock, all piss and vinegar. Had he looked at me with sorrow, or hate, or terror, I might have been able to bear it. But even as they'd slipped the noose about his neck, he'd looked at me with faith and confidence, so certain I could save him. You always come through for us, boss.

But I hadn't. My captain and I hadn't the means nor the opportunity, and in that dusty landlocked city we'd had no allies to call on. My eyes drift closed, my fingers trembling in a most unmanly fashion as I slip the necklace that ruined us all over my head. I don't know how it came back into my possession, nor do I wish to. The universe made sure I arrived with it in hand, a reminder of all that is at stake. There are important things to be done. Trouble watches me, his normally expressive features drawn and nervous. In the time since my arrival he has been a constant companion, his only purpose to amuse and frustrate me, to keep me moving and healing. He tells me this bond between us will grow and change, and that things are not quite right at the moment, but I am grateful for his presence just as he is. The world seems brighter with a companion at your side. Trouble sits atop my shoulder, eyeing me in the mirror as I straighten my tunic once more. The vibrant reds in the vine-like embroidery are symbols of death, a mourning pattern, but the golds woven through here and there are for hope and luck.

"Do we hafta go?" Trouble moans, not for the first time. I knew he wouldn't be able to keep his silence for long. "I don't like it."

"I've already told you. This is the only way to-" I reply, my clipped tone hiding some of the lilt I still carry from my homeland.

"Yeah, yeah," Trouble grumbles, his nimble fingers plucking at a stray strand of thread at my shoulder. Raccoons, or my raccoon at least, seem unable to stop themselves from picking at such things. I distract him by shifting into movement, carrying us both from the small one-room apartment I'd secured. "I still don't like it."

"Doesn't matter, it's what must be done," I answer firmly, with a confidence I do not feel. I do not know what to expect, how I will be met, but I know this is my chance and I cannot - will not - waste it.

Our walk to the castle seems to take forever, though I am careful to pace myself so that I do not appear disheveled when I arrive. I am a few minutes early for my appointment, and am directed to take a seat until King Arthur has time to speak with me. My journey has officially begun...

Replies:

guide him with your grace - By Arthur September 15, 2014 at 05:27:30 PM
- it's where darkness is conquered by light - By rohmarr September 16, 2014 at 01:37:34 AM
  - pray he finds your light - By Arthur September 16, 2014 at 05:45:41 PM
    - in a battle that's been waging for all eternity - By rohmarr September 17, 2014 at 00:30:51 AM
      - remind him where you are - By Arthur September 17, 2014 at 06:34:47 PM
        
        the sea at dawn is a cathedral - By rohmarr September 17, 2014 at 11:30:31 PM
        
        guide him with your grace - By Arthur September 19, 2014 at 09:42:50 PM
        
        the sea at dawn is a cathedral - By rohmarr September 20, 2014 at 01:00:20 AM

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