Before the Beginning

A few hundred words of yet another unfinished idea, but nevertheless something to play with. After all, I'm allowed to begin a million stories...

Silken paws tread lightly over polished marble. Luxuriant russet stripes reflect in the multitude of gleaming mirrors that line the hall. Whiskers tremble for a moment. The form slinks towards a creaking ebony stairwell, heavy with thick carpet. Padded steps steal lightly upwards into the gloom. The glowing bronze coat rests now, before a heavy shimmering curtain. “Aldric, won’t you join us?” A voice, smooth as honey calls softly.  The regal beast pads through the curtain.

Over an emerald sea a long suffering vessel shudders. Its timbers ache, having soaked in the salty spray and beating sun for many years. The bleached bough carves a path through the glistening tide, making way for a tropical island deep in the desolation of the sea. The captain, young and impetuous paces the prow, a smile playing on his lips. “This is it Thompkins! I can feel it this time.” His voice sings out, his accent flavoured with rich nutty sandalwood and oriental spice dances on the whirling breeze. “Aye lad, though this is what? The seventh time you’ve said this?” Thompkins voice, mirthless and deep, yet touched with the softness of age and an especial fondness for the youth assayed forth. “You’ve been counting? I’m surprised” the boy pouted “most would’ve long given up by now.” Thompkins fixed the boy with a rheumy stare, saying a little more softly now “I’m sorry lad, I know, but don’t you feel it’s time we gave up on this business and just went back to pirating? Gasperé lies just South o’ the horizon and you know what them ships will be hauling… There’s a fair bit of swag to be made and that’s no mistake.” The youths face dropped for a moment and then, like the rose pink rays of a forgotten sun a smile breeched the looming thunderhead. With a dramatic flourish the boy stopped his pacing “Alright Thompkins, I’ll tell you what, If, and only if we find nothing in this port we can go back to pirating. Now be a good chap and see to it that these scallywags prepare to go ashore.” With a contended sigh he retired to his cabin.

The boy paused a moment in the darkened room, the burning brightness of the day still swimming in his vision. Slowly, he made his way over to the large vanity that sat firm upon the groaning planks. Reaching for a small oak box he traced his fingers over a name, etched into a small bronze plate atop the lid. “Soon little one, soon.” He whispered. The all familiar cries customary to the art of docking wafted through the open window. The youth sighed again. Replacing the heavy box the boy made his way back to the deck. With friendly threats and the occasionally cuss he made his way through the thronging press of men swarming atop the deck. Flinging orders here and there he ensured his trusted bark settled neatly against the pier.

His progress down the gangway was impeded by a lofty individual, accompanied by a pair of rather frail looking guards. The Harbour Master greeted the boy with a shifty grin. “Welcome lad, welcome!” rat-like eyes peered curiously from above a miniscule pair of tortoiseshell spectacles. “I understand you’re the captain of this here vessel, magnificent! Truly a fine example of… More… um… well-travelled models!” The youth regarded him coldly, pressing two pieces of gold into the man’s outstretched palm he made his way towards the town proper.