<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Do we have an OOC and/or character sheet thread to post random banter and keep character sheets collated?</div></div><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j266/der_kluge/cyn.jpg)</div><strong>PC</strong>: Jin (http://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=43923)<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Deck of the ship and into the drink<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Whoever doesn't have a decent strength and wants to get a lift.<br/><br/>The soft-spoken man had been quiet much of the trip, an almost too-calm air around him, and the fire of a fanatic in his eyes. Eating alone, he had kept himself apart from many of the other passengers, one of the many missionaries who had come to bring the word of his own sect to the godless savages that might fill the new land. Unlike many of them his well-toned muscles and defined musculature showed him to be a man familiar with the training regimen of a paladin, which the fire in his eyes added to, yet a twinkle in his eyes indicated at an intelligence that was not oft-seen by those who trained their muscles exclusively throughout the day.<br/><br/>His ears were a clear indication of his half-elven nature, yet there was something about him that indicated this was not completely true as well; both elves and half-elves were generally slim in form and figure, yet there was something stouter, more homely about him, almost as though he were part dwarf... though at this point you might be looking too deeply into things. Keen eyes gazed at the wind and water over the starboard rail as he gathered his thoughts, and only half an ear listened to the other passengers as they spoke of their hopes and dreams to start a new life. For a brief moment he saw them as though they were snakes crawling through the mud of history, leaving trails in their wake that stretched endlessly into the past, having been forged before by their ancestors. The monastery had taught him of many things, of various creatures that dwelt in earth and heaven, of the aspects that embodied the Right Hand and the Left Hand, and of all manner of creatures both natural and unnatural. But they had never taught him of the history of the land or its people, and a pang of regret stabbed through him.<br/><br/>By the time he opened his eyes he could see the white foam and darkening skies that marked the coming of the storm. A pang of almost-fear, like a bolt of lightning shot through as he recognized the what might be coming, but the feeling faded after but a mere moment as he remembered the teachings of the monastery, that the Paths had a plan for him, and that he would live to see it through. Hearing the cries for help to tighten the sails and weather the storm by riding it out, he quickly rushed to help the sailors, copying their movements or helping those who were forced down by the rising winds to pull ropes. Breath came heavy as his muscles tightened, his backpack and gear weighing him down a little, and he quickly knotted a rope before continuing to rush back and forth, helping those who were unable to aid the ship from sheer lack of bodily strength.<br/><br/>It felt but a moment later that he smelled the burning stench and his eyes widened. What fool had allowed fire to lick and roast the hull of the ship, to bring down their means of transportation!? He felt, more than heard, the cry of one sailor as the rail he was holding onto broke free from the battering of the storm, kicking him into the raging ocean. He quickly looked around, the onslaught of the storm threatening to throw him off his feet, desperate to cling onto something to save him from the rain's battery. He spied a rope, and dashed towards it... and at that moment the ship lurched heavily, and he felt his feet lose contact with the deck, and he was flung into the air.<br/><br/>A terrible sense of vertigo gripped him as he felt the water surround him, felt himself thrust heavily into the waves. He struggled desperately for air, having been winded by the shock of cold about him and the impact of the water as he fell, but could not make out which way was up or down. He felt himself spin, disoriented further by the push and pull of the tide. He was losing air and fast--he needed to do something. Was he going to die here? Had the monks been wrong that he had a destiny to fulfill? No, that couldn't be right. They were wise, guided by their belief, just as he should allow his belief to guide him. They had always said that his self-doubt was his greatest weakness. Well then, so be it. He picked a direction--he didn't know how or why he chose to go that way, but it<em>felt</em>right, almost as though something were guiding him. Was it the Divine? His intuition being guided by the Divine? One stroke, two, and suddenly he broke the surface, gasping for air, a litany of thanks upon his lips as fresh air entered his lungs.<br/><br/>He looked around quickly--he could not have been under for more than half a minute, yet the ship was in far worse a state than he had left it. Looking around wildly, he thought he could make out lights in the distance... and perhaps someone else struggling against the water? Broad strokes with his hand brought him towards the person, ready to drag them and himself in the direction of the lights they had seen.