A strong wind caught their sails, and they were off – Cutting through the waves at speed. The sky was crystal blue, and the sun made the endless ocean around them shimmer. PC gazed soulfully to the distance – it seemed as though they were adrift in eternity itself, sailing through the stars. Behind him, he heard the crew cheering and shouting. The ship pushed through a wave, sending a cool ocean spray across their sea-worn faces. More cheering.
And yes, of course, the men were drinking. They carried upon their ship barrels of ale, pale and dark, as well as larger and whisky for the night-watch. PC stretched out, allowing himself a moment alone – away from the jubilant crew.
Amidst the crew, Vinay sipped his beer cautiously. He mustn’t allow himself to get too drunk. His recent training would all be in vain if he drank to excess, like the rest of the crew. “Fools” he thought, smirking. He would never understand their impulsiveness, their brashness. A quality he saw no advantage in possessing. Vinay prided himself in upholding a meticulous, caring caution in all things. The others drank deeply from their glasses, shouting in joy. Some of the crew had begun to wrestle drunkenly. One man was climbing the ships mast, while others watched and cheered him on – no doubt betting on his inevitable success, or failure in reaching the top. Vinay sat quietly watching. He sipped his beer. He felt a pang of worry – “This is definitely ruining my diet”. It was his first, and probably his last drink for the day.
Arnav drained a full beer in 3 gulps, before refilling his glass. The crew cheered. He noticed PC standing a distance away, with his back to the crew. Vinay was sitting quietly, eyes vacant. Arnav drank deeply from his 7th glass of beer, as a crewmate handed him his pipe. He lit it up and breathed in the rich, thick aromatic smoke. “A fine blend indeed”.
The men nodded their agreement, each lighting up their own pipes. Arnav exhaled, watching the thick smoke rush up and disappear. Of all his great journeys, he knew the greatest was yet to come. He stood up and gripped the nearest man in a headlock – “skol your ale or I’ll throw ya overboard!” The crew began to cheer and laugh, egging him on. Arnav felt completely at ease – home at sea.
There was an uneasy calm circulating around them. The winds were quiet. The men were loud. Vinay sensed something coming. He continued to sip his beer wth a calculating stare into the distant clouds. This was merely the calm before the storm. They would not be ready for what was to come. The skies had gotten eerily clear with Gulls flying past them from beyond the horizon. The skies were painted with a beautiful pinkish hue. Women would have swooned over its majestic appearance, but Vinay knew what it meant…
“Bloodshed…” Whispered Vinay to himself.
“Cap’n ! Cap’n ! Something is headed our way…” Yelled Vinay, suddenly alert. The drunken men nearby were looking around lost and askew. Vinay wasn’t much of a talker, but when he spoke the crew knew it held meaning. Yet alcohol had maimed their senses.
A Man thrice Vinay’s size bouldered his way to Vinays side. A quizzical expression in his eyes. A seriousness in the creases of his face, which simply could not offset the comical design of his body. But he was their captain, and their men knew what he was capable of. His wrath had brought many a foe on these free seas to their knees. The tale of Captain Saravana and how he broke ‘Harry the Angry’ by sitting on him for 3 days straight was now folklore in the town they had left.
Captain Saravana had was the one who banded together this group of misfits and made them a family. His Insatiable appetite and unyielding love for his famous towel slung across his shoulder.
The men were lost in a cloudy haze of Wine and women. Arnav had relieved himself of his pants and was chasing PC around the ship in a jovial manner, his manhood flopping around aimlessly.
“Come here Ya Scalliwag !! Bow to your commandn’ Officaa. Bow to my royal C##k !!” Screamed Arnav, the alcohol fueling his jovial attitude.
Arnav was slurring as he cursed PC’s speed. PC, while completely dead sober was somehow more incoherant then Arnav. Their minds were absent the impending threat.
“Everbody! Get your weapons ready. Something is afoot” Bellowed the Captain.
“Cap’n !! ” screamed everyone, shaking off the alcohol like it was nothing. But their movements were sluggish…bad signs.
An emptiness became a shadow. A shadow turned into a ship.
The ship was a woody, gigantic behemoth. It’s men were shadows of death. Unsightly beings who had been cursed by the sun and the gods.
Their flag was unfamilar to Vinay but fear crept over him none the less. Not because of the ship but because Captain Saravana was quivering – his eyes stunned in disbelief as they fixated on the flag which came into view…
Its sails were engulfed in yellow and red. A lions skull flag, with the Letter T.Y.G emblazoned below it…
The TYG crew was unconventional, as they carried women with them.
Whilst initially disgusted, the men of Saravana’s ship could not help but stare… years trapped in an all male environment had made them hungry.. starved… ravenous.
TYG boarded their ship peacefully, and Arnav declared a feast to be held in honor of Saravana’s power and size.
That night, the men and women of saravanas crew and TYG dined in the great halls of the ship.
A few ales later, Saravana seemed disturbed.. distracted. A blackened maiden had seemingly caught his eye – the highly coveted Janabi.
At the end of the feast, Saravana stumbled hesitantly to her side of the table. A hush fell across the halls, as he lowered his large frame down on one knee. Quivering, he proceeded to present her with a crumpled boquet of roses, which he drew from his jacket. Janabi grimaced as Saravana’s words broke the silence – “Janabi…I like you”. She took the flowers from him, not realising what Saravana had truly handed her that evening.. his heart and soul.
Many a day and night passed, and their romance deteriorated. As it did, so did Saravana’s very being. Then came the day that she left him.
The once lively halls of the ship were deserted and gathered dust. The jovial crew, who had once drank and sung and fought together slowly disbanded…The deck of the ship lay deserted. And yet Saravana stood at the helm, his eyes dark – bereft of his heart and soul. He sailed endlessly, lost adrift the unforgiving ocean waves, forging an endless path through the night’s storm.
And in his solitude, sometimes – just sometimes – he would stand in the dark empty dining halls of his ship…close his sunken eyes….… and hear the once jolly singing of his men…taste the sweet pale ale, and feel the summers sunshine upon his face. Then he would open his eyes, and find that it was all but a fading dream.