Background: (Rogues) Bran

[Hat]

Background: Either Amnesia (2) or Amnesia (1) and Prophetic Dreams (1), "Discovery" speaks to the Amnesia.

Discovery
Salt. The smell of the sea. Pained, cramped fingers, that as soon as I begin to loosen them, I start to slide. Somehow aware that letting go means almost certain death, my fingers spasm, grip the wood and I cling on. I pull my battered, exhausted body back into its uncomfortable resting place. The slight slosh of water, the sound and feel of soaked linen, wool and leather drag sluggishly against wood, metal scraping. My senses slowly wake as my wet skin feels the steady breeze and the weak warmth of a sun stretching through thin clouds to reach me. I can feel the comforting press of my cross trapped between my body and what it lays on. Scents of wet wool and the sea fill my nostrils. Awareness sharpening, the sounds of gulls, the distant crash of waves against something and faintly what might be voices. Darkness flees suddenly as my salt crusted eyes blink back against the too bright light. It eases, my vision fills mostly with barrel before shifting my head towards the sounds.

The sky is light, the clouds thin and unthreatening, the sea rolling in the steady breeze, but not rough or troubled. The horizon is a different matter, dark clouds presaging a coming storm. The bouncing prow of a ship, waves breaking against it, cleaves its path heading in my direction. Movement on deck and in the rigging show me a crew moving with purpose and skill. My eyes close for a moment, perhaps longer, open again and the ship is notably closer. ‘آیا آنها مرا دیده اند؟’ (*1: Have they seen me?) Still closer it comes and a commanding figure with bright red hair, almost certainly the captain exchanges words with the lookout. Shouts ring out, but the distance and the waves swallow their shape and meaning, though I allowed myself a bit of hope. ‘خدا را شکر، من نجات پیدا کردم!’ (*1: Thank Theus, I’m saved!) They lower a rowboat over the side, and I watch who I believe to be the captain and seven other sailors load and start rowing in my direction. I whisper a silent prayer to Theus in thanks, and hope it’s not premature. ‘محترمانه من باید محترم باشم’ (*1: Respectful. I should be respectful.) As the boat gets closer I spot a small monkey sitting on the Captain’s shoulder. (*1: Odd.) Once they pull close enough I address him. اجازه ورود به کشتی، کاپیتان؟ (*1: Permission to come aboard, Captain?) ‘زبان اشتباه’ (*1: Wrong language.) ‘Red hair…’ My throat protests a bit at the rough treatment. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

The captain smiles at me and I respond in kind. He’s clearly a man of wealth with expensive clothes, his blade’s handle a mix of gold and bronze with subtle design for the handle. The sheath tells me its own story, well cared for with the telltale signs of a used blade, not one just for show. He addresses me, pulling my attention back, “Sure, ye sound like ye’re a long way from home, mate.” He reaches to take me by the arm, calling to the others in the boat to help haul me aboard, “Mind ye don’t let that sword slip now. Ye wouldn’t want to be explainin’ to him why his scabbard’s empty.” I nod in appreciation of the sentiment. I couldn’t bear to lose it, though can’t put my finger on why and find myself frowning. ‘Focus on what matters now, worry about that later.’ I do what I can to make it easier. Together they haul me into the jollyboat before the captain offers a sealed container of liquid, “Water first, then if ye’ve a taste for it, the good stuff.” My throat rough, water is certainly the next order of things once I can get my hands to cooperate. I slowly stretch my fingers out of the clenched shape they’re in. Once I feel I can grasp the bottle, I nod and take the proffered water. “Thank you, Captain. The water first would be appreciated,” my words accented compared to the captain’s though clearer and a bit stronger. ‘How long has it been since I’ve spoken?’ I wonder. I sip, making sure that my stomach won’t reject what it’s getting and stop after draining half the bottle. I use the time to consider the others in the boat. The woman carries herself with some authority, probably a mate, supported by the fact that she’s not rowing, curious why she’s along. The half dozen sailors know their craft and clearly respect the captain, the mate or both, likely both. They’re polite enough to keep their conversations quiet so as not to disrupt our conversation. They’re relaxed, so assured that while they do their jobs, they’re not going to draw the captain or mate’s ire. A good sign. ‘Good stuff? A sip or two might be nice.’ I look back at the captain, “I’ll try a bit of the ‘good stuff’ if the offer’s still good, Captain.”

“Ah, sure it wouldn’t be much of an offer if it were taken back so fast, now would it?” When I’m done with the water, one of the crew takes the bottle from me. It would have been nice to have more water after a bit of whatever’s in the flask. Given they’ve rescued me it would seem rude to ask for more. The captain’s bright blue eyes seem to reflect the sun as he directs his men to row us back to the ship, leaving the barrel behind. I stare at it, trying to make sense of it and come up with… nothing. Apart from no visible marks above the waterline especially now that it’s righted itself, there’s just, ‘nothing. How…’ My attention is pulled from the barrel as the captain unfastens a decorative metal flask from his belt, a red leather holster allowing for a firm grip. When he hands it over to me, he speaks again, “That last ship of yours, it doesn’t look fit for the sea. We’ll be leaving it behind.” I sip and my throat burns with the unfamiliar alcohol, strong but manageable. I take a second sip, ‘smooth’ I think, not sure if I like it or not. His words draw my attention back to the barrel bobbing away from us, visible or hidden depending on the swells. ‘Ship? I guess it served that purpose.’ Realizing I still hold his flask, I pass it back. Best not to drink too much of the captain’s personal stash. Settling in for the trip back clearly at home in the boat, the captain runs a hand through his thick red hair. “Have you a name you’d like to share? I’m Aodhán, but these lads here call me Captain O’Llŷr.”

It's good to know the name of the man who’s shown me such kindness. “I’m…” nothing follows. ‘why is there nothing?!? A name. I should have a name!’ “It’s…” I open my mouth again trying to force, free, beg… something. Nothing. ‘What came before the barrel? What ship? Where was I bound? Anything?!? No memories. I’ve got no memories. I’ve got to be calm. He’s waiting for an answer.’ I can feel my face color at my inability to answer such a simple question. “I’m sorry for my rudeness, Captain. But I… can’t give you one. It’s not that I do not wish to! I… cannot seem to recall anything before waking up on that barrel.” I smile, but I can feel the awkwardness in it. ‘I hope he doesn’t throw me overboard because of this.’ “Refer to me as you wish until I can provide you with something proper. My humblest apologies.”

Aodhán doesn’t appear too surprised when I have no name to give as he just nods. ‘He reacted better than expected.’ Recognizing his good fortune he offers a silent prayer. ‘I thank you Theus for watching out for one as unworthy as I.’ Focused as I am on giving thanks, I almost miss his comments. “The sea has a way of leavin’ a man wanting. We’ll need to give ye a name,” he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll call ye Bran. It’s simple, and it means raven.” ‘Bran?’ he thinks then pauses, though no outrage, name or other thoughts intrude. Aodhán pauses a moment to gauge my reaction, watching the ship getting closer as the boat is rowed steadily. “Because of your dark hair, y’see. One of the crew mentioned she had a feelin’ you were important, and ravens are harbingers.” I nod. “Seems like a good choice, Captain. I thank you,” and incline my head in thanks. After the boat is brought alongside the port side of the ship, the sailors climb up the rope ladders thrown over the side. The captain regards me curiously. “Are ye strong enough to climb on your own? Once you’ve settled in, ye might want to seek her out.” Taking stock I find myself a bit tired and perhaps not running at full strength, but good enough. When I speak again my accent has settled on something similar to the voices above. “Aye Captain. All this feels familiar. Could you be usin’ an extra set of hands, at least until port? Ah figure ah should find some way to repay your kindness for pluckin’ me from the sea an’ for passage,” I note, discovering movement on ship is familiar and climbing the rope ladder as comfortable as an old shoe. “I can see her now or get to work, as you wish. Which would you ‘ave of me?” I add once reaching the top.

Seeing me reach the top with familiarity evokes a smile from the captain who quickly ascends behind me and stands at the gunwales. “Aye, Bran, by the ancient laws of hospitality, I swear this upon the sea and sky. Ye shall be our guest, and under our protection ye shall remain. No harm shall befall ye so long as ye bring no ill to me, my crew, or our vessel. This I vow, by the salt of the sea and the breath of the wind.” The oath catches me off-guard as the tone is significantly changed from the casual banter the captain employed until now. I’m not sure of the meaning of it. Before I can do more than stand solemnly in the face of the declaration, the captain’s demeanor changes, the easy smile returns, and he addresses me less formally. “Right, Hiram will take you to your cabin. Once you’ve settled in and had a bite to eat and a drink to quench your thirst, we can chat about whether you’ll be joining us as crewmate or passenger on the way to Canguine. As for the woman who mentioned ye were important, I imagine you’ll be finding her below decks. She was the one in the jollyboat with us. I’ve a hunch she’ll be waiting for ye.” When the Captain finishes speaking, the small monkey on his shoulder reaches up to lift and replace his playing-card pirate hat in the direction of Bran, offering a chitter filled grin. “Sorry, the Admiral sends his best wishes for a smooth sailing.” “Thank you, Captain,” then looking at the monkey, “Admiral.” I nod at the antics, realizing I’ve seen monkeys like this before, though I can’t place exactly where.

As the captain moves off, I glance around the ship feeling the rhythm of the work. ‘Familiar, not ingrained,’ I think realizing I’ve done this before, but the work requires thought. Hiram gestures and I follow automatically adjusting to the roll of the ship. The sword at my left hip feels comfortable, hand resting easily on the pommel, while my right hand flounders a bit as if expecting a pommel. ‘Two swords? Something to figure out later.’ Safe at least for now, I have faith in Theus that things will work out and follow Hiram below.

*1: Aldiz-baraji (Persian)

Note: Thanks to Harliquinn for roleplaying out the encounter and assisting with the above.

[Harliquinn]

Looks really good! I like the internal dialogue and the presentation. I'm happy to have been a part of it!

John