The Captain's Blessing

The Whispering Wind

Day 1. The Captain's Blessing.

The morning sun glittered across the endless sea, reflecting golden shards of light as the Whispering Wind sliced through the calm waters. The ship moved with an effortless grace, carried not by the sea breeze but by the powerful wind elemental bound to its core. High above the deck, the sails billowed and shimmered faintly, their movements imbued with a subtle magic that only a few aboard truly understood.

At the helm, Captain Gerald Oxbane stood steady, his hands firm on the wheel. Beside him, Sydney leaned casually against the railing, her crimson hair catching the sunlight in fiery hues. The two conversed in low tones, their attention divided between the horizon ahead and the mysterious array of ten porcelain flutes mounted on the iron pole near the pilot’s wheel.

Gerald tapped the smallest of the flutes. "That one there,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement, “gets us moving at about 4 knots. Pretty standard. The one we're on right now—that’s about 10 knots." He gestured to the next flute, its delicate surface reflecting the sunlight like polished ivory. "The next two up? That’s where you start feeling the real speed."

Sydney smirked, her curiosity piqued. "And the rest?"

Gerald chuckled, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "Oh, the rest get interesting. Five is a wind anchor—it keeps us dead still, even in a storm. Six? Reverse. Seven, now that’s stealth, lets us disappear from sight. Eight—evasive maneuvers. Nine calls a storm to our aid. And ten..." He paused for dramatic effect, his grin widening. "Ten is attack. Don’t ask me what it does—No idea.."

Sydney raised an eyebrow, her gaze drifting to the sails. "And you’re trusting all this to a ship that’s powered by an elemental we barely know?"

Gerald laughed, his voice hearty and full of confidence. "It’s worked so far. I’d say we’re in good hands—or winds, as it were. This is quite the ship you've put together."

On the open deck, Farrah and Deanna faced each other in the center of a growing circle of crew members. With wooden training swords in hand, the two women began their sparring match. At first, the movements were slow, calculated—like the opening steps of an intricate dance. Then, as their confidence built, the pace quickened.

The deck became a stage for a dazzling display of skill and grace. Farrah and Deanna spun, leapt, and parried with fluidity and precision, their movements so perfectly in sync that it seemed choreographed. Farrah’s long blond hair whipped behind her as she lunged forward, her strikes powerful yet controlled. Deanna countered with a lithe, catlike agility, her black hair flowing as she flipped backward to avoid a strike, only to retaliate with a series of rapid strikes that forced Farrah onto the defensive.

The crew cheered and clapped, captivated by the spectacle. It wasn’t just the mastery of their swordplay that impressed—it was the sheer artistry. They weren’t merely sparring; they were sword-dancing, a blend of combat and elegance that left even the most seasoned sailors in awe.

Unnoticed by most, Sydney stepped away from the helm, her gaze fixed on the shimmering sails above. She murmured softly under her breath, weaving words in the Old Tongue, an ancient magical language few in the world still knew. "What do I call you?" she asked, her voice barely audible amidst the sound of the waves.

Her vision shifted, her senses suddenly heightened by the magic she had invoked. The physical world around her faded, and in its place, she saw the true form of the wind elemental.

It was breathtaking—a massive, etheric wind dragon that circled the ship in an elegant, rhythmic motion. Its translucent body shimmered with hues of silver and blue, its form constantly shifting between solid and mist. When it spoke, its voice was both thunderous and gentle, a sound that resonated through Sydney’s very soul.

"You speak the Old Tongue," the dragon said, its massive head lowering to meet her gaze. "Good fortune to you, young mage. For the extent of the agreed time, the vessel is one with the spirit. We are called the same."

Sydney’s lips curved into a delighted smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Do you know where we sail?"

The dragon’s glowing eyes flickered. "There are whispers upon the wind. To the Island of Mulbor is where we sail."

"And do you know of the item we seek?" Sydney asked, her voice steady despite the awe that filled her.

"The device of the Beholder, that which encapsulates the essence of Kankantarkin," the dragon replied, its tone grave. "It is not under the open sky, but underground. It is beyond my reach. Perhaps when we are closer, it will be revealed to my senses."

As the dragon’s ethereal form faded from her sight, Sydney returned to the physical world. The crew was still engrossed in the dazzling display on the deck, unaware of the profound conversation that had just taken place. She glanced back at the sails, a new understanding and respect for the elemental that powered their journey.

As the day wore on, the Whispering Wind continued its swift pace, carried by the elemental's boundless energy. The afternoon gave way to a sunset that painted the sky in vibrant hues of orange, pink, and gold. The crew gathered on the deck to share their first meal of the voyage, their spirits high after a day of fair winds, calm seas, and breathtaking displays of skill.

The golden hues of the sunset deepened to rich ambers and purples as the Whispering Wind glided effortlessly through the calm seas. The long table set upon the deck glowed softly under the light of sea lanterns strung in the rigging, their warm illumination casting a magical ambiance over the gathering. The smell of roasted steaks mingled with the salty ocean air, and laughter and chatter echoed in the open expanse.

At the high end of the table sat Captain Gerald Oxbane, Farrah, Deanna, and Sydney, their faces lit with the warm light of camaraderie and purpose. Along both sides of the table, the crew of the Whispering Wind perched on barrels, plates laden with succulent food, their spirits high. The night air was warm, the sea calm, and the moment perfect.

Captain Oxbane stood, holding up a full and unopened bottle of Azure Spiced Rum Private Stock. The exotic azure hue of the bottle gleamed like a jewel under the lantern light, and as he raised it high, the clinking of forks and knives paused. The crew, wiping their mouths and settling into attentive silence, waited for their captain’s words.

Gerald’s commanding voice carried across the deck. “Tonight,” he began, his tone rich with pride and anticipation, “is a night of new beginnings! This is the maiden voyage of our host, the Whispering Wind!”

At the mention of the ship's name, the rigging above seemed to shimmer with a golden glow, as if the elemental bound to the vessel responded to the invocation. The sight was met with awe, but no fear—every crew member knew of the powerful air elemental that gave their ship life.

“With the deepest appreciation to Farrah, Deanna, and Sydney, who purchased this fine vessel and gave us all the opportunity to sail her,” Gerald continued, gesturing to the sisters. The crew erupted into applause, clapping and cheering, as the three women smiled graciously.

Once the applause died down, Gerald pressed on, his voice taking on a ceremonial tone. “Now, as we share our first meal together as one crew—the Crew of the Whispering Wind—I would like to honor a tradition that was passed to me when I was just a lad on my first voyage.”

He held the bottle aloft. “My first captain shared his finest bottle with his crew on the first night of the first meal, as a way to christen the crew and bind them to the ship. And so, I do the same now.” With a flourish, he popped the seal and the cork from the bottle, taking a hearty swig. He lowered the bottle and smiled broadly. “He took a drink, said his name and his calling, and passed it along. So here it is—my name is Captain Gerald Oxbane, and this is my third captaincy. My previous vessels were the Mariani and the Thompson, both cutters in the Eveswynd Merchant Navy.”

He handed the bottle to Farrah, who took it with a grin. She rose from her seat, her long golden hair gleaming in the lantern light. “I’m Farrah, gunslinger by trade and the eldest of the sisters who made this ship possible. Don’t make me mad, and we’ll get along just fine.” Her confident smile drew laughter from the crew as she took a drink and passed the bottle to her sister.

Deanna stood next, her dark eyes sparkling. “I’m Deanna, trained in the far eastern sword styles. Let’s just say I can handle myself in a fight.” She tilted her head toward the deck where she and Farrah had sparred earlier. “And if you’re up for the challenge, I’d be happy to train all of you in the basics.” She winked, took a drink, and handed the bottle to Sydney.

Sydney rose gracefully, her fiery red hair catching the last rays of the setting sun. “I’m Sydney, and I’m a fire elementalist. The Whispering Wind is powerful vessel and I can't wait to see what we can do together.” Her words carried a playful confidence, and she took a long sip from the bottle before passing it to John Stanton, the first mate.

John Stanton took a long drink with a loud sigh of appreciation as he looked fondly at the bottle. "John Stanton, 1st mate. It's my job to make sure that whatever the Captain says, happens. Been his 1st mate since the Mariani and I love the man!" John and Gerald nodded knowingly to each other.

One by one, the crew introduced themselves, each taking a drink and sharing their names and skills. There was Imagog Wolfsbane, the ship’s gruff but kind-hearted blacksmith and quartermaster, followed by Anthony Sabini, the ship’s gunsmith with an eye for detail. Lial Lovanisi, the ship’s doctor, brought smiles with a dry quip about stitching up mistakes. Milton, the cook, promised meals as good as the steaks they were eating.

Then came Sagan, the keen-eyed lookout and tailor, and Grunt, the jovial and muscular ship’s grunt. Sailors like Mister Tismoth, a skilled weaver, and Mister Phillips, a fighter and musician, added their voices. Daniel Spots, a barber, and Freddy Qinco, a tradesman, shared their trades. Branson, the brawler, Filo, the rope master, Colleen, the seamstress and baker, Rachael, the climber and fisher, and Brendana, the diver and thief-trained sailor, rounded out the introductions.

By the time the bottle made its way back to Gerald, a bond had begun to form—a unity forged over shared food, laughter, and the stories that each crewmember brought to the Whispering Wind.

Gerald raised the bottle once more, his voice ringing clear under the glowing lanterns. “Now, let us seal this bond of a new crew on a new ship with the Captain’s Blessing! May the Whispering Wind and her captain and named crew be as one, bound together for each other as a family in good health, adventure and fortune!”

The crew raised their glasses and mugs high. As if in agreement, the masts and sails of the Whispering Wind glowed warmly, the elemental’s presence palpable in the air. The crew cheered, their voices rising into the night as the blessing was completed.

As the tables were cleared and broken down for the night, the crew lingered on the deck, exchanging stories and laughter under the stars. When the night watch began their shift, the rest of the crew retired to their quarters, the warmth of the evening lingering in their hearts.

Below deck, as hammocks swung gently with the motion of the ship, the crew drifted into peaceful slumber. Above, the Whispering Wind sailed onward, her glowing sails a beacon of hope and adventure under the vast expanse of the starlit sky.

Imagog Wolfsbane

Anothony Sabini

Lial Lovanisi

Sagan

Milton

Grunt