Citizen 310 Idas

On the whole, the day had progressed rather unexpectedly. Idas had been skulking down the main stretch of some back-end port town when she had been accosted by a snooty, well-educated Rexal wanting her to join his ship’s crew. She had to admit his vernacular and accent were quite appealing, because for no particular reason at all, Idas had accepted his invitation. To suggest that she wasn’t aware he was part of a pirate crew would have been a lie, Idas had lived in portside towns for almost her whole life, and as soon as she set eyes upon the dark ship it was clear what kind of vessel she was boarding. The morals and ethics of a situation rarely gave her pause for long - first and foremost, Idas acted in the best interests of Idas. While this most commonly took the form of obeying the local laws, she had no real problem with breaking them at times.

Given the recruiter’s decorum, Idas hadn’t been sure what to expect of the crew, and she was pleasantly reassured to discover they were standard run-of-the-mill pirates, and not some hoity-toity group. As far as introductions go, it had been a half-decent one. Idas had anticipated sleeping on the cold wooden deck of the ship, and it was a welcome surprise to be offered a hammock, especially since she was not particularly valuable as a crew member. She never had the luxury of taking up an artisan craft, and her sailing experience was near enough to none that it didn’t bear mentioning. Still, there was no shortage of general labour tasks aboard the ship, and they were more than happy to find work for her idle hands.

Idas had been assigned a small rust coloured Rex to quite literally show her the ropes. The pair were tasked with loading barrels and crates onto the ship in preparation for their departure from port, and the work had already taken them four hours. Every empty space was being filled with cargo, and Idas found it interesting that all of this work was being done by hand. There were no less than six Rexals working beside her, and none of them were using their magic for anything other than lighting the dark passageways below deck. She wondered if anyone on the ship had any kind of skill with magic, however the more she thought about it, the more she concluded that even the trained scholars of Atlas would have trouble moving this volume of crates with their magic alone. It made sense to rely on the strong hands of a well disciplined crew.

The ship was due to return to the high seas at first light, and it would be Idas’ first time travelling so far into the ocean that she could no longer see the shoreline. She hoped that she wouldn’t be pinned down by sea sickness, but unfortunately she wouldn’t know until she ventured out into the untamed waves of the ocean. If worst came to worst, she would take her few possessions and jump ship at the next port town. It was a thought that gave her some measure of comfort, as her current living situation left much to be desired.

Fortunately, her first day at sea went well. She didn’t seem to be suffering the symptoms of sea sickness, at least not yet, and her rust coloured friend had made attempts to point out important members of the crew as the two of them worked. The captain, the quartermaster, the carpenter, and the surgeon. The names of the Rexals were lost on Idas, but she would remember the faces. These Rex were not worth upsetting.

As the sun began sinking below the horizon and the cold crept in, she began to realise just how physically drained she was. It had been a long, hard day in the sun and her body longed for rest. Her rust coloured mentor had bid that she eat before she retire to her hammock, as tomorrow’s sore muscles would be all the more painful with an empty stomach. The duo walked into the galley and were immediately greeted by the delightful aroma of pheasant soup with onion, potato and leek. Idas couldn’t remember the last time she ate a meal this nice. Her mentor went to collect the food and returned with two cups full of soup. The liquid shifted gently from side to side as the boat swayed, and Idas held the warm cup between her hands for a moment, allowing herself to enjoy the aroma and the heat. Her eyes turned to her companion who sucked down their soup in one giant gulp and began eagerly encouraging Idas to do the same. Idas brushed the idea aside and drew the soup to her lips to savour the first sip.

As soon as the liquid touched her tongue the strong flavour of bone broth and citrus assaulted her senses. She recoiled, almost emptying the contents of the cup into her lap. Idas stared down into her cup. Where once sat steaming hot pheasant soup and butter bread, a foul-looking grey liquid now surrounded chunks of citrus and goodness-only-knows-what kind of meat. The rust coloured Rexal by her side let out a snort.

‘Aye, it’s always the way with yer first day! Ye won’ be makin’ the same mistake again lassie fwahaha! Scull the whole soup while the illusion holds and ye'll find the experience quite palatable!’

Idas scowled, annoyed that she had been made the fool and for the fact that she hadn’t seen through the illusion earlier. Was she really feeling so comfortable around these Rexals that she would let her guard down? She choked on the soup for a second time and buried the thought. Kinship was a sensation that she was neither accustomed to nor comfortable with. She let out a sigh of resignation. It seems someone on this ship did have powerful magic after all. She concluded her fatigue was the reason she hadn’t spotted the illusion and set her eyes upon the room. They darted around, trying to pinpoint the weaver of the illusion but Idas could see none of the faces that had been pointed out to her earlier. Surely it wasn’t the cook? She laughed quietly to herself, realising that this was going to be her everyday meal from now on. Tomorrow she would follow her mentor's advice. Perhaps it would work and the illusion would hold, but even if it didn’t, this grub wasn’t all that different to what Idas was used to eating. She downed the remainder of the ‘soup’ in one gulp. There was on difference, she noted. The taste of freedom sure was a lot sweeter.

~ Welldips