The Captain

The waves lap against the ship. The sea breeze carries brine and salt to your nostrils. You take a deep breath and try to steady yourself on the railing. You wished you heard chatter. You long for the familiar banter of your crewmates, but they were not here.

You feel a presence approach to your right. You dare not look at it. You are thankful for the railing then, to stay your trembling arms. You should be angry, for what it did to your crew, but you were beyond that now. Now you were just a passenger on your own ship, and you wonder why you were even brought along, why you were allowed to live.

    The usurper speaks, “Captain, how much longer?” 

    You jump, taken from your reverie by its slow, measured voice, and your hands release the railing before gripping it again, not wanting to show your nervousness, though you were sure it knew. 

    “Abou’ six days. The wea’er will turn sour soon. Ye see that cloud formation there? Nath is angry, and we be in quarrelsome waters if we stay the course,”

    “Our sailing must not be perturbed.”

    “Then take us on ano’er course,”

    “That would mean a delay. We will sail through,” the presence left you alone at the bow once more.

    The storm was upon you and your ship. The huge cloud stretches across the entire horizon, rising up like a howling tempest, a massive avatar of destruction. The usurper is going forward as you watch from the wheel, it holds a pulsing object in its hands. As the waters become more turbulent, and the ship enters the storm, you spy a massive wave coming. You pray to Nath, this is the final moment. 

    “Liege! I thou’ ye said we be fine!” Looking around, the crew was working soundlessly, wordlessly operating the ship, and they seem to pay you no mind. They seem nonplussed by the situation. Totally unaware of what was about to befall them. 

    The hideous figure merely approaches the bow and raises the blue object to the sky, and the wave, massive as it was, seems to cleave in two, the middle of it reducing, allowing the ship to pass through it. A calm serenity inside a whirlwind, for the next hour, the ship passes through the storm with no issue, sailing as though there weren't waves the size of houses crashing nearby.

    The next several days pass without incident. The usurper never talked to you about that storm, or what he did, and you were too afraid to ask.