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by Selothi on Thu Jun 19, 2008 10:25 am
The first rays of sun slowly peered through Keleth's window, their flaming light awakening the weary assassin. His burns had nearly all healed it seemed, after a thourough inspection with a mirror, but his arm was now sore and still stiff and painful. Tarn looked at his shirt, laying in tatters, ripped and burnt, so instead grabbed a black surcoat he had kept in a small carrying bag. The man still kept a few spare pieces of clothing. He clumsily fitted this on, along with his cuirass and gloves, trousers and boots, along with his belt. Keleth's whole body was still tired from yesterday's sparring match, but it was a lot better thanks to Nweris' medicine and healing. Keleth coul not doubt her use.
He opened the door, stepping into the wooden corridor that was this part of the ship. It was swaying back and forth, more so than the previous day, but was still bearable though. He came out onto deck just as Phoenix pushed her way up into the morning sky, exercising her visibly intact wing. Why didn't I do any damage ? He sighed, the assassin could not win every fight unfortunatly. This was the case here. His lungs breathed in the fresh morning sea air, slight specks of water filling his notrils and face as a wave splashed against the side. He went over there, bending over, watching the hull of the boat cleave its way through the deep blue waters, like a hot knife through butter.
The gentle spray of the sea caressed his rough, unshaven skin, slowly comforting him in a blissful, half-awake state of mind, the gentle ricking of the ship as a lullaby, the sound of the water as its music. The assassin's stomach grumbled, Enough day-dreaming, time to eat ! he thought. He headed back down into the ship, his steps barely making a sound on the floor boards, as the gentle waft of fresh food assaulted his nose's senses. The cook's were already at work, cooking some bacon and setting the table; Keleth grabbed a loaf with he tore through with his teeth, before buttering what was left with a random knife.
A cook, at his request, tossed him a bottle of teakia, very weak, sweet wine, served at breakfast and desert. The fresh liquid warmed him up, sending relief down all his body, and after chomping down a few rashers of bacon and quickly chatting with a cook, he took his leave, heading back up to deck to stare at the horizon.