Day 6
It was paradoxically surprising and expected when Roen did not come to visit him the next day. She had mentioned that whatever activity they would be doing would likely take all day, yet Daegsatz found himself looking at the door to his cell more often than not. The sun had passed it zenith and Daegsatz had used the remainder of the parchment; the most recent sketches had been laid out on the cot to let the ink dry fully. The rest were placed in a neat stick against a corner. The images were vivid and myriad; a tidal wave, an albatross, an island shore, a fleet of ships, a tornado, an array of cutlasses, a bonfire. The theme of the images seemed to sway between image evocative of the sea and whatever else the Roegadyn had been thinking of at the time.
So Roen was now in regular contact with Nero. Daegsatz could only wonder about the progress of that relationship. The paladin was certainly attractive enough--for a Hyur anyway--for the smuggler to make his usual lecherous comments and flirtations. With some amusement, the Sea Wolf recalled her exasperated venting from the previous day. She had called him a skirt-chaser, a term Daegsatz had never heard before, yet the term itself was descriptive enough as to what it meant.
What would he tell his captain if Nero were in front of him? Treat her well would have been Daegsatz' primary sentiment. Roen was a kind woman, and strangely enough the Sea Wolf felt compelled to come to her (imaginary) defense; she did not deserve whatever barbs and prods that Nero inevitably threw at her.
Daegsatz found his mind wandering to the other crew. He was still saddened by the deaths of Martin and Liam at the Silver Bazaar, cut down by the thugs they were supposedly delivering the goods to; they were a rowdy and aggressive set of brothers, but well-meaning in their own way. Garalt, as well, had likely thrown up a storm at the news that the Sea Wolf had been captured. With a soft smile, Daegsatz only hoped that he had not demolished the Forte in his rare fits of rage.
He leaned against the corner of the gaol, the last feelings of nausea gradually ebbing away. Hopefully it would be not much longer now. Hopefully.
Day 7
The parchments had all been stacked into the corner, and Daegsatz groaned as he lay on the cot. There was naught much more he could do now but spend his time sleeping. He was grateful that there was no more nausea, but that feeling had been replaced with inexorable boredom. There was nothing to focus his mind on; he had been reduced to counting the cracks running on the ceiling in order to keep his mind from going rampant.
How long had be been here? About seven suns, the Roegadyn blearily reminded himself. How much longer until he was free? Daegsatz had been forced into a brig before, but usually not for more than a few suns at a time, as space and cargo on a ship was valuable and a prisoner consumed both.
Not much longer now, he hoped. Not much longer now.
It was paradoxically surprising and expected when Roen did not come to visit him the next day. She had mentioned that whatever activity they would be doing would likely take all day, yet Daegsatz found himself looking at the door to his cell more often than not. The sun had passed it zenith and Daegsatz had used the remainder of the parchment; the most recent sketches had been laid out on the cot to let the ink dry fully. The rest were placed in a neat stick against a corner. The images were vivid and myriad; a tidal wave, an albatross, an island shore, a fleet of ships, a tornado, an array of cutlasses, a bonfire. The theme of the images seemed to sway between image evocative of the sea and whatever else the Roegadyn had been thinking of at the time.
So Roen was now in regular contact with Nero. Daegsatz could only wonder about the progress of that relationship. The paladin was certainly attractive enough--for a Hyur anyway--for the smuggler to make his usual lecherous comments and flirtations. With some amusement, the Sea Wolf recalled her exasperated venting from the previous day. She had called him a skirt-chaser, a term Daegsatz had never heard before, yet the term itself was descriptive enough as to what it meant.
What would he tell his captain if Nero were in front of him? Treat her well would have been Daegsatz' primary sentiment. Roen was a kind woman, and strangely enough the Sea Wolf felt compelled to come to her (imaginary) defense; she did not deserve whatever barbs and prods that Nero inevitably threw at her.
Daegsatz found his mind wandering to the other crew. He was still saddened by the deaths of Martin and Liam at the Silver Bazaar, cut down by the thugs they were supposedly delivering the goods to; they were a rowdy and aggressive set of brothers, but well-meaning in their own way. Garalt, as well, had likely thrown up a storm at the news that the Sea Wolf had been captured. With a soft smile, Daegsatz only hoped that he had not demolished the Forte in his rare fits of rage.
He leaned against the corner of the gaol, the last feelings of nausea gradually ebbing away. Hopefully it would be not much longer now. Hopefully.
Day 7
The parchments had all been stacked into the corner, and Daegsatz groaned as he lay on the cot. There was naught much more he could do now but spend his time sleeping. He was grateful that there was no more nausea, but that feeling had been replaced with inexorable boredom. There was nothing to focus his mind on; he had been reduced to counting the cracks running on the ceiling in order to keep his mind from going rampant.
How long had be been here? About seven suns, the Roegadyn blearily reminded himself. How much longer until he was free? Daegsatz had been forced into a brig before, but usually not for more than a few suns at a time, as space and cargo on a ship was valuable and a prisoner consumed both.
Not much longer now, he hoped. Not much longer now.
