Caligos Isle/saved posts 2017
Storyline
Topic: Ebon Gate Festival
Message #: 12873
Author: GS4-HALISTE
Date: 9/23/2017
Subject: A Little Ditty
Tilting his wooden boat back and forth as if the vessel was being gently wooed by sea waves, the youthful dwarven lad sings, "The sea, the sea, my home will be the sea! I'll be rich, I'll be famous on the sea, you will see!" He pokes and prods at his little toy, completely unaware of the goings on around him.
Dangling an ebonwood fishing pole over the edge of a small dinghy, a young dwarven man jerks his fishing pole back, a large catfish flopping on the end of a mithril fish hook. He pats his hand on the side of his small boat, and an uncanny gleam twinkles in the dwarf's eyes as he sings, "The sea, the sea, my home will be the sea! I'll be rich, I'll be famous on the sea, you will see!"
Rubbing a sheet of sandpaper back and forth vigorously, the middle-aged dwarven man smooths a long slat of exquisite teak. He runs his hand lovingly across the silky surface. In a mature voice with a mild vibrato, he sings, "The sea, the sea, my home will be the sea! I'll be rich, I'll be famous on the sea, you will see!"
Rough waters with white-capped waves and large swells dwarf the large vessel as they churn. Old enough to have seen a few fish in his day, a dwarven man stands at the ship's helm, a wide grin across his face. He scans the horizon beyond the vast sea as the sun sets. "What is that?" he asks a crew member. Fellow sailors flock to the edge of the boat and scrutinize the odd shape emerging from mist-filled dark waters. "Is that what I think it is?" the dwarf asks. A fellow sailor pipes up, hesitation in his voice, "I think it might be, Captain. We should proceed with caution."
The dwarf sings to himself, ever so quietly, the familiar words of a song he's been singing since he was a child...
Topic: Ebon Gate Festival
Message #: 12892
Author: GS4-THANDIWE
Date: 9/25/2017
Subject: ...That Turned Into a Tale...
Pulling his eyes from the pier behind him, the Captain looked to the open waters and watched as the mists slipped past. Moonlight, stars, and the occasional cry from the crow's nest were soon his companions on the three-masted vessel. He couldn't help looking back, his eyes always finding the receding island. It was always just there, just at the edge of his vision. Soon, he knew, it would fade from even his keen eyesight. But it would be there when he returned, it would be waiting.
Drumming his fingers upon the brass railing that encircled this section of the deck, he listened as one of the nightshifts began to whistle one of his favorite sea shanties. A smile rippled through his manicured, red beard, and parting his lips, he answered the tune.
Over cloud, Borthuum sailed west,
West, Lad-ees, westward, ho!
Leave the winter, in heat we are best.
Westward, lad-ees, west we go!
Borthuum, you jackjaw, you sparrow, you lark.
Ease up, Lad-ees, ease up land lo!
Pull on the trowels, the land has a spark.
Ease up, Lad-ees, landward we go!
Tend the yardarms, keep the ropes in tow.
Mind the lines, Lad-ees, heave ho!
Ash in the air, there's a volcano below.
Heave, lad-ees, heave downward ho!
Borthum, you jackjaw, it's storms near and far!
Lash away, Lad-ees, lash and stow!
Refit her with purpose, that ole Glaesen star!
Sail away Lad-ees, now seaward go!
With a broad grin and a final thump on the railing, the Captain retired to the forecastle of his beloved ship. In his mind, the historians were already writing his own shanty and he enjoyed the enticing thoughts of finally obtaining that fame.