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Winter of Storm and Shadow: Interlude #3
Almost Home The fisherman sits on an old wooden box, sewing his sail while his passenger earns his keep. The old salt had suspected the man was a landlubber and thus no good with regards to fishing on the Javan. To his surprise though, the passenger had brought in a steady winter catch every day. It had allowed the old fisherman time to work on minor repairs around the ship. Of course, he admitted to himself, the passenger's lady friend is quite a treat for an old sailor's eyes, and unlike some he'd never thought having a beautiful woman on board was a bad omen. "Hey! Now that looks ta be anutha good'un!" The old fisherman exclaims as his passenger gathers in another haul of fish. "Might rope ya into working fer me all seas'n!" The passenger moves carefully over to a particular opening in the hold and drops the still squirming fish below. From inside the small hold comes a cry of joy as the old fisherman's gnome crewman begins work on another fish. After delivering his last catch for the day, the passenger avails himself of some hot, steaming grog from a pot atop a flat woodburning stove and makes his way over to the old fisherman. "Think it'll rain?" He says, his dark eyes glancing briefly up into the sky. The old fisherman shakes his head. "Na. Not today, mind ya. Now tomorrow, when we get near ta Gyruff, yeah we'll get cold rain and sleet." "So the weather is rough in Gyruff right now? I heard rumors ever since we left Greyhawk..." The passenger rubs his hand over his neatly trimmed goatee though he suspects keeping the full beard might have been a good idea now that winter was here. "Aye, tis a la rougher than usual.. There ain't nothing normal thar right now." Sipping his nearly scalding mug of grog, the passenger nods slowly. "Things are never the same after a war." "True, true," the old fisherman responds. Reaching back, his eyes falling upon another couple of boiling pots. "Looks like they be hot nuf fer ya." Neatly clutching the mug in his teeth, the passenger grabs two towels and deftly wraps them around to pots full of steaming hot water. Picking up both, he heads to the nearest ladder and heads down into the crew berths. The old fisherman had been gracious enough let his two passengers have the largest private area, which was not much more than a small part of the hold walled off by boxes and a bit of sail. Pushing his way through the sail, he sees his fellow passenger lying listlessly on her makeshift hammock. "I though I told you to be undressed?" he says, setting the two pots down and pulling the mug from his teeth. He hands her the mug and she takes a good long drink from it. "Not with that gnome around. He's demented." She hands the mug back to him and he sets it down on a fairly balanced surface. Without a word he removes his companion's tunic. "I know you're not feeling well, but you'll have to do some of this yourself." Taking one of the towels he plunges it into one of the pots and produces a small bar of white soap. Soaping up the towel he begins cleaning her arms and shoulders. As he does, she takes her long hair and props it up on her head, securing it with a leather tie. Once done with her upper body, the man unlaces her boots and removes them. Noticing her boot socks are in shambles, he removes them and tosses them into the other pot of water. Her feet are full of sores and he carefully washes her legs up to the knees, cleaning the wounds and placing small dabs of ointment on the blisters. "The collar is supposed to suppress your abilities but I did not realize to this extent," he says. His eyes tell her that he is sorry but his voice never utters the words. "I know. I have only ever used them on mortals like you. Never on one such as I." "Well it will come off soon. We're almost home." Finished with refreshing her, the man pulls some new and warmer clothes from under his black tunic. "Presents from the gnome: woolen hose for your legs and feet and a fur tunic. He swears on The Masked Leaf it will keep the chill out." "And turn me green no doubt." Despite the situation, she laughs and begins going through the clothes. The man sits on the floor and begins washing some of their older things. As they soak, he begins mending them with waxed thread. "Surely you did not learn that in the blood war?" She asks, nodding her head towards the thread. "No, I learned this in the field a long time ago. When there are no healers around, the rest of us have to learn how to make bandages and clean wounds." He looks up briefly and then shrugs. "Besides it helps me think." "About home?" "About you actually...about where you are going to go once I release you." Biting off the thread he ties off a knot. "You'll likely not be welcome back in the service of the Iron Duke." She smiles. "I was getting bored anyway. Perhaps I will open shop in Aberglain. Lots of corruptible youth there with the refugees' return." Putting the warm clothes down she looks at him more thoughtfully. "You still have not told me what you intend to do." Her voice is quiet and betrays some of the tenderness and friendship that has developed between captor and slave. He doesn't look up but she can tell from the shift in the tension of his body that the answer to that question has been on his mind as well. For a moment he absently taps the bone sewing-needle on his finger and then begins to sew again. "Take care of some unfinished business." 
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