Categories > Original > Historical > Degenerate
A/N: This chapter isn't complete, I just wanted some feedback before I continue.
The man awakes from his slumber that has lasted close to a season, his head throbs as he forces himself to sit up in what seemed to be thick fabric suspended in air, it swayed with the movement of the ship. He gazed around the dim room to only see filth caked to every inch of the cabin, and supplies scattered. No sign of life was to be seen, his eyes wandered over the various objects, broken bottles, weathered rope, even blood soaked weapons. A bright light shone through a small passage in the ceiling, a sure sign of dawn.
His mind was fogged, he had no idea how he had come to this ship, or who he was, even where he came from. He shook his head hoping some inkling of who he was would suddenly return. But nothing, with a sigh he pulled the sheet off of him and stood, he teetered from side to side unsteadily his legs acted as they had spelt for decades. He noticed a some what neatly folded stack of garb, which he slung over himself gingerly. Once feeling had returned to his body the chill of the morning air had nipped his bare body.
He strew back his brown greasy locks, he had not bathed, a stench rose about him, his face turned to disgust. His bare feet made a creaking noise with every step across the wooden floor, which not only was rotting but had a sticky residue built upon it. Grimacing every pace he slowly climbed up the ladder and peered out unto the vast deck above.
Hefty men, dressed in heavy fabrics, adorned with more hair than he carried on his entire body flooded the deck. One in particular caught his eye, he shouted out deafening orders to his crew, spitting with each emphasized word. His men feared him, yet they still showed to be very loyal and respectful. Fear fled down his spine as he was torn from the place he stood cutlass caressing his neck. The lord barked words of another language to the men that had stopped to examine the ruckus. His hair which had receded was of a brown speckled with gray flecks, his body of a strong build, his weathered face showed the experience a great warrior. His untamed beard fettered in the wind as his eyes strewn over the young blood before him.
"Yer alive." The lord bellowed. The man who held him tightly chuckled, his eyes bloodthirsty. The young man's eyes pleaded with the lord's, he feared he would not live past this moment.
The hefty lord struck his leg with the hilt of his sword, the young man cringed in pain clenching his fists refusing to let out but one cry. The lord weighed his options, would the boy be of use or better off as sacrifice.
"See to his marks." He spoke gruffly. Two men thrust him into the lip of the ships deck, a groan escaped his lips. They tore the back of his garb nearly choking him in the process, a family name could be made out from the scarred brand. The lords eyes widened at the brand, the brand of royalty, he ignored this, he was now of his flesh.
"Yer flesh is of mine, you will sail under my flag, one of my fleet." He turned sharply before speaking lowly to one of his ship mates.
"To below with yer." The lord's second hand forced him down into the vessel. He was dragged through the several quarters, till they came to a dark room, it smelled of rotten flesh. Cries of pain could be heard countered by bellowing of threatening remarks. The boy stumbled along still winded from his prior beating.
A scruffy man with torn clothes, stood over a fire stoking it hastily an iron brand lay on the table next to him. He smiled with what teeth were left at the men who approached him. The boy squirmed as he pulled the brand from the flames, its colour orange from the heat.
The mark was placed then on the flesh of his forearm, the boy let out a cry of pain as they removed it from his broiled skin. The boy had seen this ask the mark of the devil, a serpent with the initial L marked within its wretched form.
The boy stammered nearly knocked out by the pain he had witnessed, the man beside him grimaced.
"What blood has he brought to us?" He shoved him towards the ropes tangled and strewn across the wall, another man, of large proportions fastened his wrists tightly to the rope. "Useless." he uttered.
The second in command strode towards the young man in wait for his punishment, he pressed his lips to his ear.
"You do not know the meaning of pain," he struck the boys side as he ripped the back of his garb further revealing his bare skin, he doubled over in pain. "Only then will you be a man." He spat on the wreathed boy, and nodded to the large man whip in hand. "You shall only obey our lord, and none other."
- - - -
The man tossed and turned upon the pile of moss made to be his bed, his temperature had risen drastically sweat dripping down his broad forehead. The ships motion only contributed to his dream tossing and turning as frantic waves crashed against the vessel.
Another young boy stood in the doorway he motioned for the man to follow. Reluctantly he was pulled from his bed.
The young man stumbled down the across the cabin which was full of sleeping men, snoring as loud as lions. Of course the man couldn't hear this. 'Hedin' the voice called within his head, The man shook his head at this. He opened the latch to a cold and harsh wind with rain sharply whipping him in the face. 'here' the voice called once more luring him further.
In his dream, the sun was shining bright, and the boys face turned to a look of terror as he pointed overboard. He neared the edge of the ships deck, the boy stood on the ledge holding on tightly to the rope fastened tightly. Moving closer he could see the urgency on his face, and he fastened his pace. He peered over the edge his fathers dead body lay there in the water, his cold weathered hands reaching out in desperation, his frosted glazed eyes pulling Hedin in.
He snapped out of reverie his heart raced madly as he wiped the water from his brow, pulling back his hair from his eyes. He looked around to see no one but him on the deck in a torrential storm. It finally came to be known he was standing deathly close to the edge and he backed away quickly. He swiped his arm across his nose as his breathing slowed.
He collected his thoughts and returned below his weak body quivered. All that was known to him was his name, and his hatred towards the men who have tortured him. Leif was the lords name, Hedin swore to fight back once his strength came back. But for now he was his slave, like ever other god forsaken man on this vessel.
The man jolted upright when a crack of a whip was heard, his fists clenched ready for what he had been expecting.
"Get to work," a hefty voice grunted, shoving Hedin towards the deck flooded with water once more. The boy grudgingly gave in, exerting all his left strength into his new duty.
The man awakes from his slumber that has lasted close to a season, his head throbs as he forces himself to sit up in what seemed to be thick fabric suspended in air, it swayed with the movement of the ship. He gazed around the dim room to only see filth caked to every inch of the cabin, and supplies scattered. No sign of life was to be seen, his eyes wandered over the various objects, broken bottles, weathered rope, even blood soaked weapons. A bright light shone through a small passage in the ceiling, a sure sign of dawn.
His mind was fogged, he had no idea how he had come to this ship, or who he was, even where he came from. He shook his head hoping some inkling of who he was would suddenly return. But nothing, with a sigh he pulled the sheet off of him and stood, he teetered from side to side unsteadily his legs acted as they had spelt for decades. He noticed a some what neatly folded stack of garb, which he slung over himself gingerly. Once feeling had returned to his body the chill of the morning air had nipped his bare body.
He strew back his brown greasy locks, he had not bathed, a stench rose about him, his face turned to disgust. His bare feet made a creaking noise with every step across the wooden floor, which not only was rotting but had a sticky residue built upon it. Grimacing every pace he slowly climbed up the ladder and peered out unto the vast deck above.
Hefty men, dressed in heavy fabrics, adorned with more hair than he carried on his entire body flooded the deck. One in particular caught his eye, he shouted out deafening orders to his crew, spitting with each emphasized word. His men feared him, yet they still showed to be very loyal and respectful. Fear fled down his spine as he was torn from the place he stood cutlass caressing his neck. The lord barked words of another language to the men that had stopped to examine the ruckus. His hair which had receded was of a brown speckled with gray flecks, his body of a strong build, his weathered face showed the experience a great warrior. His untamed beard fettered in the wind as his eyes strewn over the young blood before him.
"Yer alive." The lord bellowed. The man who held him tightly chuckled, his eyes bloodthirsty. The young man's eyes pleaded with the lord's, he feared he would not live past this moment.
The hefty lord struck his leg with the hilt of his sword, the young man cringed in pain clenching his fists refusing to let out but one cry. The lord weighed his options, would the boy be of use or better off as sacrifice.
"See to his marks." He spoke gruffly. Two men thrust him into the lip of the ships deck, a groan escaped his lips. They tore the back of his garb nearly choking him in the process, a family name could be made out from the scarred brand. The lords eyes widened at the brand, the brand of royalty, he ignored this, he was now of his flesh.
"Yer flesh is of mine, you will sail under my flag, one of my fleet." He turned sharply before speaking lowly to one of his ship mates.
"To below with yer." The lord's second hand forced him down into the vessel. He was dragged through the several quarters, till they came to a dark room, it smelled of rotten flesh. Cries of pain could be heard countered by bellowing of threatening remarks. The boy stumbled along still winded from his prior beating.
A scruffy man with torn clothes, stood over a fire stoking it hastily an iron brand lay on the table next to him. He smiled with what teeth were left at the men who approached him. The boy squirmed as he pulled the brand from the flames, its colour orange from the heat.
The mark was placed then on the flesh of his forearm, the boy let out a cry of pain as they removed it from his broiled skin. The boy had seen this ask the mark of the devil, a serpent with the initial L marked within its wretched form.
The boy stammered nearly knocked out by the pain he had witnessed, the man beside him grimaced.
"What blood has he brought to us?" He shoved him towards the ropes tangled and strewn across the wall, another man, of large proportions fastened his wrists tightly to the rope. "Useless." he uttered.
The second in command strode towards the young man in wait for his punishment, he pressed his lips to his ear.
"You do not know the meaning of pain," he struck the boys side as he ripped the back of his garb further revealing his bare skin, he doubled over in pain. "Only then will you be a man." He spat on the wreathed boy, and nodded to the large man whip in hand. "You shall only obey our lord, and none other."
- - - -
The man tossed and turned upon the pile of moss made to be his bed, his temperature had risen drastically sweat dripping down his broad forehead. The ships motion only contributed to his dream tossing and turning as frantic waves crashed against the vessel.
Another young boy stood in the doorway he motioned for the man to follow. Reluctantly he was pulled from his bed.
The young man stumbled down the across the cabin which was full of sleeping men, snoring as loud as lions. Of course the man couldn't hear this. 'Hedin' the voice called within his head, The man shook his head at this. He opened the latch to a cold and harsh wind with rain sharply whipping him in the face. 'here' the voice called once more luring him further.
In his dream, the sun was shining bright, and the boys face turned to a look of terror as he pointed overboard. He neared the edge of the ships deck, the boy stood on the ledge holding on tightly to the rope fastened tightly. Moving closer he could see the urgency on his face, and he fastened his pace. He peered over the edge his fathers dead body lay there in the water, his cold weathered hands reaching out in desperation, his frosted glazed eyes pulling Hedin in.
He snapped out of reverie his heart raced madly as he wiped the water from his brow, pulling back his hair from his eyes. He looked around to see no one but him on the deck in a torrential storm. It finally came to be known he was standing deathly close to the edge and he backed away quickly. He swiped his arm across his nose as his breathing slowed.
He collected his thoughts and returned below his weak body quivered. All that was known to him was his name, and his hatred towards the men who have tortured him. Leif was the lords name, Hedin swore to fight back once his strength came back. But for now he was his slave, like ever other god forsaken man on this vessel.
The man jolted upright when a crack of a whip was heard, his fists clenched ready for what he had been expecting.
"Get to work," a hefty voice grunted, shoving Hedin towards the deck flooded with water once more. The boy grudgingly gave in, exerting all his left strength into his new duty.
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