posted on Jul, 18 2014 @ 06:37 AM
"Oh Hells TEETH!" Exclaimed TrueBrit, casting about the deck of his ship, trying to figure out how he got there from where he had been before, and
for that matter, trying to recall that little detail as well.
"If this keeps happening, I am going to have to seriously consider cutting back on my allowance of rum!", he muttered to himself. Staggering hither
and thither, he tried to locate his comrades on the deck, and poked his head below decks to see if anyone was down there, having been unsuccessful in
locating his fellow warriors.
"AHOY MATEYS!" He bellowed into the echoing gloom. No response was forthcoming, so to the rat lines he went, and up them he climbed. Upon reaching
their summit, he trod carefully across the rigging to the mast, then climbed the narrow ladder to the crows nest. As he clambered into the glorified
bucket, he realised that he had left his telescope in his cabin.
He cursed profoundly at the sky, and then, muttering obscene phrases, TrueBrit snagged a piece of air between his fingers, changing its form in a
very localised area. He kneaded and squeezed, stretched and moulded that slice of air into a lens, and panned it from side to side. He could see on to
forever, and that was more than enough magnification to make out the shapes of the other ships of the fleet, and other members of the warrior clan,
milling about on Islands, and the other ships. They were all so far away, but he had to get to them, because only they could possibly help him
remember where he had been, or why.
The unrelenting glare of the sun was beginning to singe his beard, and so TrueBrit, amidst further cursing and much shaking of his fists at the sky,
grasped a line which had been affixed to the rim of the crows nest, drew his cutlass, and cut the line from the edge of the nest, as he threw himself
out over the deck. Plummeting now, still grasping the line, he sheathed his sword, then swung his feet forward, as the line became tight having caught
in the rigging. He swung out further from the mast, and at the end of the swing, as he dangled over the poop deck, he dismounted the line and
descended, spinning madly to the deck. As he thumped down to the wood beneath in a crouch, he doffed his hat, to reveal a fresh bottle of rum, perched
impossibly upon his head.
Snagging the bottle and removing the cork with his teeth, he grunted in determination, spat the cork straight up in the air, drunk half the bottle in
a mighty gulp, caught the cork as it descended with the neck of the bottle, and then secreted the bottle back under his hat. " There is much water
between myself and my destination. I think that swig was entirely justified!", he pronounced to himself. He made his way to the bridge, summoned his
bass guitar to him by an effort of will, and plugged it into the windmaker speakers on the deck. "Time to move some air I think!" he said, and with
that he began to hammer the strings with his fingers. In response the speakers slammed pulses of air into the sails, and the ship began to move,
slowly at first, and then, suddenly, as the pace of the bass increased, the ship began to accelerate.
"I'm coming back me hearties!"