The sun rises just like any other Spring day along the Danube but this day finds the fleet of Sviatoslav the Knyaz of the Rus ready to head to the mouth of the river an into the Euxine Sea.

There looks to be about thirty ships in all, most of them are the same size as the Heart of Oak, a few larger, a few smaller. The larger ones seem to have quite a few more men on board. obviously these are meant to be troop transports since they are closer to the knarrs of the northmen.

The ships start to leave the large dock area with Sviatoslav's ship int he lead. The grand Prince of the Rus stands at the prow of his ship with his foot on the dragon head itself.

When it comes time, Miroslav gives the signal to Loukas to shove off. And motions to the others get to the oars until they are in such a place where they can sail.

There is a slight breeze but only slight so the chance of a rest from the oars anytime soon does not look good.

Radvila finds himself a place on a bench and goes about business of putting his back to the oar. Rope-like muscles stand out on his forearms as he works the oar. These muscles look like they are well acquainted with such work.

For the first time, you all notice that near Miroslav is a dark, tall gaunt looking man dressed in brown robes, a cleric or monk of some sort by appearance. He looks to be in his early to mid 40's. He carries in his hand a simple wooden staff.

Loosing the Heart of Oak from the dock, Loukas sits down next to Radvila and puts his wirey frame into oaring. It feels good to be setting out, "Hoy, Miroslav, give us a song to inaugurate the Heart of Oak's first venture with our new crew!"

Sweat pouring from every pore and his head still pounding from two days of excesses, A'kos growls, "No, don't, please.  I've enough ringing in my ears to do a Siren proud."

       The Stridesman lithely jumps over the ships gunwhale and onto the slick
deck with ease.  Gultunga proceeds to the last rowing bench at the ships stern
that lies opposite to the ships rudder.  He secures his bow, quivver and spear
nearby and then sits upon the bench with oar in hand.

       Dark shadows surround Gultungas icey blue bleary orbs, obviously he had
a long arduous eve without the benefit of rest.  He remains silent as he awaits
his orders.

Barmak will stow his belongings under a bench where he can keep an eye on them, and lash them down securely.

Then he will take up station by the Helmsman and watch the sails and the size of the ship's wake.

Jean settles the livestock (the task he has set for himself while on board) in the rough center of the vessel and then moves to stand in the bow. His eyes scan the horizon.

Climbing upward, Jaleh secures full sail, though little good it seemed to do in the calm.  Still, she was sailing again, and young, and she fit the role of sailor well.  Something about being seaborne took her away from what intrigues she had grown used to in Byzantium...and some small part of her was glad to know she was striking back at that city she had grown to hate...and love.

Ulfr settles his great bulk on a bench near the back when the orders to set sail are given. His technique is not great but he makes up for that with his shear strength.

Miroslav finishes talking with the tall dark man and looks as if he is about to begin singing but looks at A'kos and smiles and instead walks forward and takes the bench next to the Magyar and begins rowing along with the rest of the crew.

He shouts out to Oleg who is the acting helmsman..."Take over for me eh? I would sometimes rather feel the sun on my back and the oar in my hand than that damn rudder!"

He then turns to Gultunga and says..."Surely you know a good rowing song for us?"

Roderychus boards the ship and sets about to accommodate his warhorse and other belongings.

         Gultungas brightens his tired looing countenace as he listens to his
companion.  After a few brief moments he replies . . .

         "Miroslav your request would be much more the easier if our drummer
wouldst set the cadance for both our rowing and my singing . . . would you
not so agree."

         Upon hearing the orders to shove off, the Stridesmen grabs a nearby
pole and uses it to push the ship off from the dock, which in turn would
allow the rowers to bring their oars to bear without having the dock to
contend with . . .

         Once they are clear of the dock, he begins to row at the same
cadence as the other oarsmen.

Without waiting for Miroslav to respond to the stridesman, the dark tall man sits himself behind the drum and begins pounding out a strong and steady beat which should keep the heart of Oak in time with the ships surrounding her.

"Ah, hells...a drum," moans A'kos.  "Well, I should sweat a month's worth of ale out of my pores by midday!"

Balthazar memorizes spells he considers appropriate for the adventure.  Gosh I can't wait to get protection from normal missiles, it will be fantastic in this setting.

        Gultungas breaks out in song o'er the din of breaking waves, the
lyrics are well timed to the beat of the longships drum . . .

        "Hel demandingly screams
           more blood,
              more blood!

        Stridesman rally
           without hesitation to their mighty sea steed
              the Heart of Oak.

        The Heart of Oaks Godi bellows deeply
           --Norsemen to your oars sally forth
              and briskly push off.

        Stout Norseman oars heartily stroke
           with shoulders hard put to it
             and brawny backs rhythmically bent in enduring cadence.

        Stroking e'vr faster
           with each thump resounding of the drum,
             its vibrations the Heart of Oaks soul beats deeply.

        The Norsemens sleek crafts most sturdy prow
           courses through tumultuous cresting waves most high
              e'vr faster to the drums quickening beat.

        From our foes danegeld we forcefully seek,
           to refuse sheer folly,
               we go beserk.

        Demanding lifesblood as payment most fair,
           plunder, pillaging, rewards galore
               with bloodied swords raised on high o'er our fallen foes."



                           

             . . . so on and so forth . . .

OCC:  The crewmen won't recognize the rowing song beings that Gultunga just
created it . . . they would be able to chime in once he begins repeating the
verses.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:46, Fri 27 Nov 2009.

More than happy to be at sea once more, Conn inhales deeply of the salty air, then find himself a spot on one of the benches. Soon enough, he is putting his not-inconsiderable strength into his oar, the sinews on his forearms rippling with the effort. With a smile he follows Gultunga's lead, recognising what is basically a Norse sailing-song from his years with the Danes - though the lyrics are of course new - and singing at the top of his lungs second time around.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:32, Fri 27 Nov 2009.

The first day passes without much to note...Gultunga sings more songs, Oleg and Balthazar work with the curved sword a bit more. The horse seem unhappy but they are once again getting used to being on a ship.

The next day passes much like the first only now the ship is well into the expanse of the Euxine Sea. The winds have picked up and Zmija the dark man says that Stribog (Slavic God of the winds) has blessed this voyage. The Slavs on the ship seem to be fairly impressed by this.

Word passes from ship to ship that spirits are high and with such favorable winds the shore of the Crimean should be visible by the next morning.

I am all for going forward with the story but will leave this open for a while to see if any conversation/conflicts/whatever erupts.

Loukas is not unfriendly, but keeps to himself as they take advantage of Stribog's or Whomever's winds blow them along, and takes whatever tasks come up in hand with quiet efficiency.

Barmak will get pally with the helmsmen and with Miroslav's approval, try his hand at helming the vessel.

He is personally sceptical of how much a god can help with the wind, but up here he is far from the Straits of Hormuz and the strange rus and slav men are clearly dominant to who is to say their gods do not also dominate?  So he keeps quiet unless spoken to.

A'kos grins at the dark man's assertion.

"A fair wind or fell blow, in either case it pushes us toward destiny!"