Caught in my own vortex of emotions and musings with the haunting screams of my crew always in the background I ready myself for a walkabout. This practice was taught to me by the Shaman who showed me the ways of Savage Ale, and I use it when the time is needed to clear my thoughts. I hate to be proven wrong and I hate even more to be held responsible for another's death. I am angry and lacking in sleep I know that soon the self destructive nature will make all things irrelevant.
*peering deep into the glass, applying the body paint used in the quest for justification*
I unbind my hair and let flow its length. As I gaze into the reflection the face glaring back is unrecognizable. Donning the Savage bone armor I try to move in the shadows with no success. The armor is too heavy and noisy; it is more suited for aggressive full on obvious attacks not the quiet assault of an assassin. The deck was cleared, as I had given orders for leave. Stepping into the dusky light of a late evening I was met by Bullseye.
"Where are you going, Captain?" he asked.
"None of your business." I said in a low growl.
"That, sir, is not true. This is very much my business, and I will not allow you to throw away a good career for your own self pity."
"You will Not allow? How dare you speak to me in this fashion. Move aside, Bullseye, or believe me I will strike you."
"Then strike me if you dare, I will lay you flat on this deck."
As my fist rose to meet him I knew it was going to be a mistake, but could hardly contain my rage. The bone armor rattled under the momentum of my movements and met the deck rail with a crunch. He had moved so quickly out of my way I had almost flung myself over the edge. This, of course, only made me angrier. I turned around in time to meet the fist of Bullseye as it landed square at my jaw. Against the rail I steadied myself, wiping blood from my lower lip.
"Captain, I will flatten you if you continue this. Do not make me strike you again, please!"
His warning went unheeded as I pushed off the rail and charged headlong into his chest wrapping my arms around his middle in the attempt to throw him over. We both went sprawling on the ground and for a moment I actually had the upper hand, then he really let lose. He released a war cry and tossed me across the deck like a rag doll. When he got to me his hands wrapped around the collar of my tunic so hard I thought he was going to rip it off of me. The fist that crashed into my face knocking the helmet to the rail was a mountain boulder.
He was about to take another swing when we heard a voice behind us.
The Commodore had walked up the plank and saw our disagreement. "Oh I’m sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your discussion, um, carry on then." He said. He then turned and walked away.
The moment had passed and the surge of anger gave way to utter and complete anguish. I am glad it was Bullseye and not someone else. He is the only of my original crew left. The look in his eyes was not one of disrespect or anger or even disdain, rather that of pity and genuine concern. That was the final straw, I was undone. As I collapsed in a heap of bruised flesh and broken armor my tears ran free as a river to the ocean. He caught me in his arms and carried me back to my cabin where he sat and waited for me to regain composure.
"Sorry Bulls." Was all I could muster.
He never said a thing, only walked out of the cabin. His glance back at me shouted volumes. It was almost as if I could hear his rebuke. "Don't Do This Again!"
I nodded and he left.
The next day the crew was meant to return from leave. I applied more of the paint to hide the bruises from the night before as I waited to see who would return. They didn't come back one at a time or in small bunches, but the whole lot of them all together. What happened next will live in my minds eye as long as I live. Single file they boarded and stood in rank. The acting XO announced in his most military voice, "crew ready for inspection, sir." The surprise and pride for this crew made my heart soar as I walked the deck.
A crooked grin crossed my sore lips as I gave the orders.
"Look lively, boys, prep the decks and batten the cargo. Lets be about our business."
I needed to give Tib my report so I collected my log and my composure before heading to his office.
Fine elven features bruised and swollen now covered with garish designs and arcane symbols hiding not only a beating but the fragile emotional turmoil deep within. Frosty blue eyes cool and shallow met the Commodore's gaze, no explanation was requested or given. The painted hand that relinquished the ship's log was swollen and stiff. As he grasped the log and held a moment looking at the broken fingers his gaze softened but only slightly.
"May want to get that looked at, Greyy." He said.

~The End~