Prison Hulk Cobalt, Limsa Lominsa
Dominic Morris was thankful for one thing, at least, since his life had been saved after the wreck of the Wound: The Maelstrom had placed him in a hulk at sea rather than one on land. With its masts broken off and its rudder stripped, the Cobalt was no true vessel, yet it still swayed in the water with the movement of the tides. Even that was only a very slight thing, but it was enough to help him sleep.
Nothing else about the vessel was a comfort, but that was to be expected. Once he had enlisted on a trading ship hired out to a Monetarist very concerned with efficiency and profit margins, slashing costs on the vessel to squeeze out every last gil. The bunks had been tightly packed and the rations meager, and the captain had worried about every last missing grain from cargo as if rats did not exist. It had been a miserable cycle, and yet it paled in comparison to his present circumstances.
He found himself wedged between two roegadyn convicted of peddling somnus with nary an inch above or below. Half a biscuit in the morning, and half again at night. Once a sennight he received part of an aurochs cheek for meat. Some of the prisoners chose to ration it until it spoiled; he made a point of consuming his straightaway. The less said of the water, the better, especially given the lack of good spirits to cut it.
And the waiting, the waiting. On a proper ship, at least one busied oneself with the necessary tasks of staying alive. Leaks needed to be sealed, water pumped, sails and rigging maintained. There was work, and there was comfort in that. Here, it was nothing but waiting and wasting away.
But at least there was the swaying of the water. That, and the sense that the waiting would be over soon. Morris closed his eyes and tried to focus on the movement until he could focus on nothing.
“Rise and shine, you jolly wards of the state you!†It was customary to wake the prisoners by smashing a metal rod against a broken bell until they awoke. There was no particular reason for the custom, save that it annoyed the shite out of the prisoners. There was little cause to keep them awake, save for its own sake entirely, but wake them they did. “Rise up, rise up, and greet Azeyma for the day!â€
Morris groaned and cursed as he rose from slumber. His hands went to his beard, as if he could track its growth by the day. He could feel little change in the way of length, although there was surely a new infestation of vilekin every day. He had since gone numb to the itching.
“Line up, line up, and get your victuals!†Morris struggled at the call for mealtime to work out of his bunk. His upper and lower neighbors had the advantage by dint of position and bulk, and the act was a struggle until the last of them were free and clear of their hammocks. He had his knees out of the sackcloth and his feet near the ground when a stout club pressed against his chest and forced him back.
“Not you, Morris.†His guard leered. Morris had hoped that there would be something to distinguish them apart, that this would matter in some way. One would talk about his wife and one would wax philosophical about the Twelve, something to make them stand apart from the harsh blows and the cruel shouts. He had not been disappointed in this regard, but he had been to learn this didn’t matter in the face of the circumstances. “You’re breaking fast at the Mizzenmast.â€
He coughed as he recoiled from even that light blow; the hulk had done poorly for his constitution. “B-beg pardon, sir?â€
“Aye, Morris. The time has come. Transferring for the martial. All are in place. Even hear Haelstyrmm will be presiding. Came all the way from the Sea of Jade to see you! Now that’ll be a hanging worth the wait.â€
The leer with a guard attached widened, hoping for a reaction. Morris had none to give, and the guard resurfaced, cleared his throat. “Now’n, the Admiralty wants this done proper, so I am to inform y’ you may request members of the Levy and learned folks for your legal advisement an’ defense. But you’ll be declining that, won’t you?â€
It would be easier, certainly. His confession still held true, whatever else the Maelstrom’d learned on the wreck of the Wound after all the delays. The trial was little more than a formality, something to show the Admiralty had a tight hold on the law of the land.
“Actually,†he said, his voice a rasp after a month without real speech. “I have a few names to submit. Descriptions.†He’d hang. He was sure of that. But he’d show them how little a grip they truly had.
Dominic Morris was thankful for one thing, at least, since his life had been saved after the wreck of the Wound: The Maelstrom had placed him in a hulk at sea rather than one on land. With its masts broken off and its rudder stripped, the Cobalt was no true vessel, yet it still swayed in the water with the movement of the tides. Even that was only a very slight thing, but it was enough to help him sleep.
Nothing else about the vessel was a comfort, but that was to be expected. Once he had enlisted on a trading ship hired out to a Monetarist very concerned with efficiency and profit margins, slashing costs on the vessel to squeeze out every last gil. The bunks had been tightly packed and the rations meager, and the captain had worried about every last missing grain from cargo as if rats did not exist. It had been a miserable cycle, and yet it paled in comparison to his present circumstances.
He found himself wedged between two roegadyn convicted of peddling somnus with nary an inch above or below. Half a biscuit in the morning, and half again at night. Once a sennight he received part of an aurochs cheek for meat. Some of the prisoners chose to ration it until it spoiled; he made a point of consuming his straightaway. The less said of the water, the better, especially given the lack of good spirits to cut it.
And the waiting, the waiting. On a proper ship, at least one busied oneself with the necessary tasks of staying alive. Leaks needed to be sealed, water pumped, sails and rigging maintained. There was work, and there was comfort in that. Here, it was nothing but waiting and wasting away.
But at least there was the swaying of the water. That, and the sense that the waiting would be over soon. Morris closed his eyes and tried to focus on the movement until he could focus on nothing.
* * *
“And that’ll be the last. I hear one more word from ‘er . . . “
“He can’t . . . gone too far . . . “
“Another step, and it’s gone . . . “
“She won’t fall alone. Not for this, she won’t . . . “
“Are we agreed?â€
* * *
“Rise and shine, you jolly wards of the state you!†It was customary to wake the prisoners by smashing a metal rod against a broken bell until they awoke. There was no particular reason for the custom, save that it annoyed the shite out of the prisoners. There was little cause to keep them awake, save for its own sake entirely, but wake them they did. “Rise up, rise up, and greet Azeyma for the day!â€
Morris groaned and cursed as he rose from slumber. His hands went to his beard, as if he could track its growth by the day. He could feel little change in the way of length, although there was surely a new infestation of vilekin every day. He had since gone numb to the itching.
“Line up, line up, and get your victuals!†Morris struggled at the call for mealtime to work out of his bunk. His upper and lower neighbors had the advantage by dint of position and bulk, and the act was a struggle until the last of them were free and clear of their hammocks. He had his knees out of the sackcloth and his feet near the ground when a stout club pressed against his chest and forced him back.
“Not you, Morris.†His guard leered. Morris had hoped that there would be something to distinguish them apart, that this would matter in some way. One would talk about his wife and one would wax philosophical about the Twelve, something to make them stand apart from the harsh blows and the cruel shouts. He had not been disappointed in this regard, but he had been to learn this didn’t matter in the face of the circumstances. “You’re breaking fast at the Mizzenmast.â€
He coughed as he recoiled from even that light blow; the hulk had done poorly for his constitution. “B-beg pardon, sir?â€
“Aye, Morris. The time has come. Transferring for the martial. All are in place. Even hear Haelstyrmm will be presiding. Came all the way from the Sea of Jade to see you! Now that’ll be a hanging worth the wait.â€
The leer with a guard attached widened, hoping for a reaction. Morris had none to give, and the guard resurfaced, cleared his throat. “Now’n, the Admiralty wants this done proper, so I am to inform y’ you may request members of the Levy and learned folks for your legal advisement an’ defense. But you’ll be declining that, won’t you?â€
It would be easier, certainly. His confession still held true, whatever else the Maelstrom’d learned on the wreck of the Wound after all the delays. The trial was little more than a formality, something to show the Admiralty had a tight hold on the law of the land.
“Actually,†he said, his voice a rasp after a month without real speech. “I have a few names to submit. Descriptions.†He’d hang. He was sure of that. But he’d show them how little a grip they truly had.
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Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine