Bosworth Family/Henry/Voyage to Beluaterra
Henry's journey from Atamara to Beluaterra did not happen exactly as planned. It is documented in the following role plays as shared with the realm of Riombara.
Posted August 12, 2012
Calis, Atamara. Ten days ago.
“If I may be so bold, why are we doing this again, Sir Henry?” Garr was a pragmatic young man. Not much younger than Henry, and the wiser of the two. But he knew his station – usually.
“It is too bold, Garr, but as you’ve been with me since I was 11, I shall overlook the affront.” Henry gave Garr a half smile. His valet was truly his best friend, perhaps his only friend, and Henry knew it. “It is not like last time.”
Garr raised his eyebrows. “Six years ago, you had an awful row with your uncle. Afterward, we packed all the gold we could and set off for Calis to sail for the Far East. Last week, you had another fight with his lordship, we have all your gold in cash, and we have just purchased passage at Calis.”
“I must admit, there are similarities.” Henry’s smirk widened just a bit. “But six years ago, the gold was Uncle Norvel’s, and he caught us before we reached the Taran border.” He paused for a moment, scowling. “This is different. I’m doing this with a cool head. I’ve always dreamt of the Far East, you know that. I need to see it for myself, but I simply couldn’t make Uncle understand.”
“I suppose dreams are important.” Garr grimaced. “On the other hand, I’ve always dreamt of living at least 25 years, and with the stories I’ve heard of sea travel, neither of us may get what we want.”
“You’re a nagging old woman, Garr. Stop grousing and load the baggage.”
Posted August 13, 2012
Onboard ship. Seven days ago.
Finally asleep, Henry was still queasy even in his dreams – sea travel was not the romantic adventure he’d hoped for. In his dream, he was falling from the ship’s rigging down toward the sea. Nothing to hold on to, no way to break his fall, just waves growing ever higher, and ever-worsening sickness inside. Down and down – here came the splash …
THUD!
Jarred awake, Henry had fallen out of bed onto the floor of his cabin. His stomach was reeling, but more alarmingly, the ship was reeling. Creaking and groaning all around, it swung wildly to and fro beneath him. Henry was sick then and there on the rug.
With great effort, he crawled out the door toward the deck. Just inside the hatch, Garr cowered, looking as ill and afraid as Henry felt. “We’re to stay below, sire. The storm is too violent. Captain asked the passengers to pray their gods will keep the ship together. Maybe someone’s god will hear.”
Henry’s frown deepened. “I’ve never been much good at praying. It seems you have a knack for prophecy, though.”
Garr shook his head at Henry’s grim humor. “I’m sorry I ever said anything, sir.” And with a shudder, he threw up on the stairs.
Posted August 13, 2012
Henry had no idea how many days the storm raged – day and night were equally black. Formerly godless men prayed with fervor they never thought possible. Yet the only answer from heaven was the continuing storm. As hope faltered, the passengers gave up on the gods and gave in to silent despair.
But deep within the ship, far out of Henry’s knowledge and far below his condescension, chained in the brig, was a man of God. Leof the peasant; Leof the aged; deported from Atamara as Leof the heretic; scoffed at as Leof the lunatic; known by God as Leof the intercessor. His faith did not waver: he knew the One he served. And finally, Leof felt the answer in his spirit.
Nothing had changed: the storm was unabated. But a joyful shout erupted from the brig. A shout of praise, followed by a shout for help. “Take me to the captain! I must stand on deck! Take me to the captain! We are saved!”
No one was above listening to the lunatic – every sane option had already failed. The captain himself unshackled Leof and helped him above deck. The old man clung to the mast against the battering storm, and passengers huddled in doorways and hatches to hear him.
“Many days have I prayed for our deliverance, and my God has graciously granted all of your lives. I have asked Him also to allow you a glimpse of his power and his mercy.” Now Leof let go the mast. Garr rushed forward to catch his fall, but the old man waved him off and stood firm. “In the name of the True One, I say to the storm, cease, and to the sea, be calm!”
Henry felt authority in Leof’s words that he’d never heard before, even from a king. It passed over him like a shockwave, and after the power came peace: peace in the sky, peace in the sea, and peace in Henry's heart.
But Leof was spent. He fell to the deck before Garr could reach out for him, and his body, frail once more, was broken. Garr bent over him, unsure what to do. Leof’s eyes opened, and he spoke weakly, “It is a land ruled by evil and darkness. Seek the True One. He will find you, and help your master.”
Garr lifted the old man, “We must get you below.” But Leof shook his head, “I must go where I have always longed to be.” And as Leof breathed his last, a shout came from the sailors, “LAND! I can recognize Beluaterra!”
