Angantyr Eriksson
Nordenfiir
- Messages
- 11
- Character Biography
- Link
The ship's hull groaned and sputtered the speech of waves licking against its keel as the Kakamo'lan cut a swath through open ocean. Angantyr could sense that they were getting into deep waters now.
It had been some hours since they'd set off from port, and his new career as an oarsman aboard the Kakamo'lan had been thus far uneventful. His muscles were cast aside in favor of the Gods' breath, which was enough to propel the ship for now. The blue sky of day was gone; only golden sunset that broke through porthole windows and made its way below decks, causing his icicle irises to squint. Night would be upon them soon, but he could tell that the Kakamo'lan had made good time since setting off from port.
It was all Angantyr could do to blend in with the other oarsmen, wearing plain brown tunic and pants and an altogether uninspiring belt around his waist, save for the scabbard at his side that contained a sword. Hardly the typical possession of a commoner. Muttering and low chatter would sometimes fill the sullen mess hall around him, mixed in with hull creaks and drowned out by sickly coughs. Prying eyes lusted for the blade, its ornate gold-trimmed hilt beckoning every man's greed, begging them to envision their hand around it. But for now, it was firmly in the possession of Angantyr Eriksson, unassuming oarsman, and if he had his way, once the Kakamo'lan had ventured out to waters vast and eternal, tonight would be the last time his hands gripped the cursed corpse-candle.
It had been some hours since they'd set off from port, and his new career as an oarsman aboard the Kakamo'lan had been thus far uneventful. His muscles were cast aside in favor of the Gods' breath, which was enough to propel the ship for now. The blue sky of day was gone; only golden sunset that broke through porthole windows and made its way below decks, causing his icicle irises to squint. Night would be upon them soon, but he could tell that the Kakamo'lan had made good time since setting off from port.
It was all Angantyr could do to blend in with the other oarsmen, wearing plain brown tunic and pants and an altogether uninspiring belt around his waist, save for the scabbard at his side that contained a sword. Hardly the typical possession of a commoner. Muttering and low chatter would sometimes fill the sullen mess hall around him, mixed in with hull creaks and drowned out by sickly coughs. Prying eyes lusted for the blade, its ornate gold-trimmed hilt beckoning every man's greed, begging them to envision their hand around it. But for now, it was firmly in the possession of Angantyr Eriksson, unassuming oarsman, and if he had his way, once the Kakamo'lan had ventured out to waters vast and eternal, tonight would be the last time his hands gripped the cursed corpse-candle.