Under the clear sky, the fresh sea air invited the passengers of the
Peregrine onto the deck to stretch their legs. The few below deck were working or getting ready to head topside. Darian Fairhold was no exception, even if his preparation included holding a bucket to his face.
He had only been on ships two times before this. Both trips were dreadful journeys from one mining colony to another. When Darian wasn’t rowing he was shackled, and in either case he was nauseous.
Man was not meant to rock back and forth like this. Darian thought as he wiped the spittle from his face and set the bucket aside to be cleaned later. He got up from his cot and stretched a bit before nausea made him reconsider. Instead of some aerobics, Darian looked around for something he could use as a mirror.
Looking into a grimy mug, he glanced over himself. His tanned olive skin was about as clean as it could be after a few weeks at sea. He wished for a moment that it didn’t look so dry and firm, but stopped himself. A man’s appearance is his story, and I guess this is a part of mine. He considered tying back his dark and unruly hair, but let it fall free when he noticed the brand on his neck was visible when his hair wasn’t down. Hopefully people either wouldn’t see it or wouldn’t know that an “S” branded into the neck marked a slave.
He shook his head to get rid of his thoughts, and, after splashing some water on his face, looked over his reflection one more time. Ok, you look fine. No need to be worried. Everyone here is looking for a new start and we’ll be a community. A wave of nausea passed over him, as much from the nervousness as from the large shift to the right that the ship just made.
Despite his nausea, Darian was determined to make at least one friend before landing at Talmandor’s Bounty. Someone who wouldn’t look down on his status or try to force him to become something he isn’t. He had a rough start. The crew initially laughed at him lugging around all of his equipment under his arms. “Ha ha. Don’ ya think ye overpacked a bit lad.” One of the sailors yelled when Darian dropped half of his belongings at the first the rock of the ship.
His sentiment was echoed by the laughter of several other crew members. “Ya sure ya should be going if ya can’ even handle a little sway like that.” The jeers bothered him a bit because there was some truth to them. He knew that he wasn’t cut out for greatness, and he definitely wasn’t cut out to be on a ship.
The one thing Darian knew he was cut out for was mining. In Cheliax they had him mine in the worst of conditions from narrow passages, to gas leaks, cave ins, and even a flooded cavern that he had to swim through multiple times while dragging heavy bags of ores behind him. Despite everything, he endured and eventually was rewarded by the gods when those freedom fighters raided his mining camp and won his freedom. Darian’s surprise that day was only matched by his surprise to learn that he got accepted for this expedition. His budget immediately went to buying his own mining equipment, the first items that he could call his own. He pushed through every day believing in the promise of a place where no one would wonder how a slave could go back to doing the work he was freed from.
The excitement of the future reignited his ambition to get to know the other colonists. His nausea was passed now, but his stomach was still filled with butterflies. At the bottom of the steps Darian steeled himself. Today was just one of many on his way to living the way that he wanted in a home he made for himself.
