<span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="font-family:Open Sans">Altair could hear one of the pirates asking for his tongue so that he'd stop with his words of faith. They were holding their hands over their weapons uneasily, and we wondered which one might offer to do it, or if they would leave everything up to Cygnus. How uneasy had he made them? The only one who had gone so far as to draw their weapons against him was Cygnus himself. Altair had to scramble up and back at the the Captain's urging, pressed into the ship railing with threat of further maiming. His fate was further explained to him, and someone went to fetch a barrel. Cygnus gifted it to him. He grabbed his hair next, so that they could look upon each other while Altair was given time to deliberate between his choices. Not that he had any good ones. <br/>
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“You <i>know</i>,” Altair snapped. “I'll choose to leave my death to the hands of your sea god. Your touch is not the last thing I wish to feel in this life, so you'd do well to<i> remove them </i>from my person.” He snatched himself away haughtily, and turned to climb the railing. He looked down to the unforgiving ocean that would soon greet him. A place that would quickly become his grave. He was weak, and the water would be cold. He was a fine swimmer, yes, but even a healthy man would only last so long under such conditions. He didn't let them see his fear.<br/>
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Altair balanced his bare feet on the railing, standing and demonstrating his Dusanian grace and poise. He was weak enough that a feather might have knocked him over, but the wind was still, and the rocking of the ship gentle. His knees were slightly bent, absorbing the movement as he turned to shower them with one last look of scorn before looking back out to sea. He let them linger on the unsettling view of his damaged back, the sun lighting his pale skin anywhere it wasn't bruised, bloody, or covered in filth. He'd gone eerily silent as he remained there, no more words falling from his lips.<br/>
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When he walked off the edge his eyes were closed, and he cut through the water like a ribbon, the chill of the ocean consuming him. His limbs were inactive for a moment at the sudden shock, but the salt licking his wounds snapped him out of it. All of it was pure agony, and his lungs burned as he tried to claw him way to the top even though he knew eventually, his body would fail him. He didn't regret his choice. This was better than having to suffer Cygnus' touch. The ocean was an impersonal death, and Altair thought he knew what to expect.<br/>
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They must have tossed the barrel over because his hand encountered something hard when it breached the surface, and Altair grabbed hold of it. If he hadn't come in contact with the floating barrel, he doubt he would have made it all that long treading water, and while it would only prolong his fate, Altair truly didn't want to die. Especially alone, so far from any of the comforts he knew. He was frightened, but he was tired. He hurt, and the only comfort in that was knowing he was still alive enough to feel pain. All he could do now was lay his damage body over the barrel as best he could and hope that one of the gods took pity on him.</span></span>