<strong>PC</strong>Brogan (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=683441)<br/><strong>Location</strong>Top deck/ Below deck /Top Deck<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>Galacia, Any<br/><hr/><br/>The journey so far had been mostly what Brogan had expected. Well, except for the vomiting. He had never been on the sea before, out of the sight of land in all directions, and in those first days he had seen most of his meals come back up - at least once. But soon he adapted, as he always did, and the bouncing ship on the waves of the ocean seemed to bother him no more than it did the veteran sailors who tended the vessel.<br/><br/>The crew had been a typical lot, sailors with skill and proficiency that indicated many of them were veterans, and from what Brogan had been told veterans were needed for this particular journey. It was a dangerous course they sailed, rumor and mystery surrounding other ships that were destined for this location towards which they now sailed. Brogan had accepted the risks, had accepted the fact that he might not ever see his mother again. But the unanswered questions had burned in his heart for over a decade, and it was time that he found the answers he sought - or be consumed by them.<br/><br/>The half-orc was a hulking figure compared to most humans and elves, broad of shoulder and thick of arm. He spent much of his days topless - not to impress or intimidate, but because wearing metal armor while floating in the middle of the ocean, when one swell could send him overboard, was not the best idea. One of the other sailors had warned him about that the first day they had set sail. So Brogan had been content to wear his leather breeches and boots, his grayish skin seemingly absorbing the sun's rays as he moved about the deck. He had grown bored quickly, and spent much of his time aiding the sailors with their chores. He was not receiving compensation for it, nor did he care to: he simply wished for a way to combat the boredom that threatened to undermine his spirits.<br/><br/>Besides aiding the crew, he spent time practicing with his weapons, of course, and conducting his exercises. It relaxed him, helped to pass the time, and kept him in shape. He often wore his long, black hair in a braid, to keep it from getting in his face as he worked or exercised, as the wind up on deck could be brisk at times.<br/><br/>Other than the crew, there were others aboard whose paths he had crossed merely in passing. Brogan was a quiet soul, usually, as his kind weren't exactly the first choice for companionship amongst the men and women of humans and elves, or any other race for that matter. It was no insult to him, he had learned of and accepted racial differences when he was younger. Brogan held no ill-will towards those who would prefer to avoid him. However, those few who had approached him, sailors mostly, were always greeted in a polite tone, and more often than not he was happy to assist them with whatever task was at hand. Some of the crew even grew to like him. Bolvor, the ship's head workman, had shown distaste for Brogan at first, but after assisting the other sailors, even he had come to offer Brogan a grudging respect. Several times the man had told Brogan that they needed to arm-wrestle for coin, since Brogan was not predisposed to games of chance.<br/><br/>The Captain, Finz by name, was a ruggedly beautiful woman in Brogan's eyes. Strong, assertive, forceful - she didn't take attitude from anyone, not even Bolvor. At times during their journey when the business of running the ship was at its slowest, she would even talk to the various guests, her flirtations directed at some of the males. Brogan was convinced, though, that such offers of comfort upon reaching the shore were not meant for him, but rather for the other, more comely men on the ship. While not ugly, especially for his kind, he was also aware that women of other races tended to avoid his own as well, another example of racial divides that he had also been rudely introduced to when he was younger.<br/><br/>The trip seemed to be going well, and there was hope amongst some that the arrival might even be sooner than first imagined. But such hoep was short-lived, and as night approached, Brogan could sense many of the men becoming worried. A storm was brewing on the horizon, and from the looks of it, they would not be able to escape it, no matter how fast the ship or how skilled the crew was. Preparations were made, while the jovial nature of some of the sailors sunk to a quiet murmur.<br/><br/>By midnight, the ship was in serious turmoil. Brogan did his best to help where he could, lashing ropes where needed, and re-lashing them when they came undone. More than one sailor had been sent tumbling overboard, and Brogan was even able to grab one of them before he hit the railing, but the others were simply gone, swallowed up by the dark, hungry sea. Salt water spumed everywhere, it seemed, as if the sea itself was determined to shake and rattle every living creature off the ship. For their part, the sailors toiled gallantly - working together, most of them had seen their share of storms on past journeys.<br/><br/>Another cry went up, though, and Brogan's eyes were diverted to the stairs leading down into the hold. A bright, orange glow seemed to be growing, and he knew -that- could not be a good sign. Quickly he made his way to those stairs, even as a couple of men climbed up them, coughing and shouting at him to not descend. He ignored them, bounding down the stairs quickly. The tiny bunk-area was near the foot of the stairs, and he dashed into it, avoiding flame and smoke as best he could. He found his possessions just as he had left them, a backpack tied to his shield and breastplate. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold onto these items, but he was sure as heck going to try.<br/><br/>He dashed out into the hallway as a scream pierced his ears in the distance. Someone, somewhere, was -burning-. The smell of burning flesh was distinct, as well as burning hair, but the sound came from a direction blocked by the hungry flames and thick smoke. Brogan glanced the other way and saw a dark figure not far down the hallway. For a moment, he thought that the flame was -avoiding- the figure, but he knew with the smoke in his eyes, and the uneveness of the flames, it was likely a trick of light.<br/><br/>Brogan recognized her a moment later. Galacia, he believed her name to be or something sounding much like it, from overhearing others address her in the days before. She was a passenger, like himself, rather than a crewman. And like himself, she was likely to find herself tossed from the ship soon, in one way or another.<br/><br/>"Galacia! Quickly! The belly of this ship is almost consumed by flame!" he called out, unaware that she might have any sort of affinity with the flames. He quickly made his way to her with just a few long strides, assisting her if need be. "Lifeboats are lowered, but the ship's mast is done for, and this flame will finish whatever is left!" he called out, his deep voice speaking the common tongue as if it was his mother language. If she accepted, Brogan would lead the lady up to the deck, and to the nearest railing. Over the side, there was already one lifeboat lowered filled with men already, and Brogan -thought- he saw the captain among them, though in the excitement he wasn't sure.<br/><br/>Not far from the edge of the ship, various debris floated, some of it large enough to use as a raft, or at least large enough for several people to cling to, which offered a far better future compared to the alternative as his eyes glanced back to see the glow growing even more, as well as the smoke.<br/><br/>There might be room for Galacia on the lifeboat, but there surely wasn't for him. She'd have to make her own choice, as they'd be forced over the edge anytime now.<br/><br/>