Never set sail without a navigator, or at least a map and compass

-Excerpt from ‘The Ten Laws of the Sea’, author unknown

Rose didn’t know when she had fallen asleep. It was hard to tell time without the moon and the stars, when the only view was the pitch black of the ocean.

She thought that the boat had been going towards Smuggler’s Rest, but perhaps her course had altered while she slept.

In the sky above, the clouds were still thick. A dark grey blanket that covered the world, hiding the sun and obscuring any hope of navigation.

In all her rush to leave home, she had forgotten to bring any means of measuring her direction.

She did a little spin, to see if there were any recognisable landmarks on the horizon, but it was just her and the deep blue.

Emerlan Isle was situated at the southern end of a small ocean. Small by the standards of the world, given that some of the grander seas could stretch for a million miles or more, but still vast for a single teenage girl all alone in a fishing boat.

Perhaps one of her skills or traits might be able to help her out in this situation. Rose didn’t think so, but it was worth having a look before making any rash decisions.

With that in mind, she reached out her mind to the tide and her eyes flickered across her information.

Name: Rose Everblue

Race: Human

Occupation: -

Title: -

Available Titles: -

Skills: Cleaning 4, Reading 8, Fishing 12, Swimming 7, Writing 2, Butchery 6, Cooking 5, Herding 2, Focus 7, Drawing 9

Traits: Sensitive Line

As the stories told it– and the books too, though Rose was not an academic and had never seen one of the lengthy tomes on tide theory, let alone read one– the tide was a gift from the gods, designed to help the sentient races hone their knowledge and skills.

It was an exchange predicated on the assumption that the mortals would be so grateful for the help, that they would offer up prayer and thanks in abundance to the generous deities in return for their gift.

Rose wasn’t sure how that had worked out or if it was even true, but she had been raised to both fear and worship Sylack, the God of Fish and Fishermen. A healthy respect for the ocean had been instilled in her since she had been a child. Her father made sure of it.

The dangers of even a mundane job like fishing could be catastrophic. A storm could strike at any moment or a sea beast could emerge from the depths and swallow a small vessel whole if it so chose. Offering a prayer to Sylack every now and then warded off such horrors.

Yet the world was vast– it held innumerable oceans and dozens of gods holding domain over various aspects of the sea.

Perhaps one of the others might take issue with Sylack one day and decide to strike out at his worshippers.

It was a cruel world and Rose felt that it was easier to stay out of divine politics where necessary.

Right now though, she freely gave her worship to whichever deity would offer her a way to escape her predicament. Her one trait, sensitive line, would be of little use for navigation.

She had received it upon achieving level ten in fishing and her father had treated her to a meal in Smuggler’s Rest as a celebration.

Back then the idea of following in his footsteps and making fishing her life’s work hadn’t seemed so harrowing; so defining.

All the trait did was nudge her aim a little when she cast her line, giving her an increased chance to land near an approaching fish.

Traits tended to be like that– minor adjustments to how things functioned. At least at level ten, that is.

She had heard from her father and other tradesfolk that the traits at level twenty-five, fifty and one hundred– if one was skilled and dedicated enough to achieve such a thing– were more potent.

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Tales from her father were of little use to her right now. It was beginning to look like her only option would be to wait it out and hope a ship sailed by to pick her up, or at least offer her a true heading and some means of staying on course.

Taking a chance and rowing or sailing in a random direction might seem like a tempting prospect, but Rose knew better.

There was just as much chance she would end up taking herself further out to sea and wasting valuable energy with no payoff rather than advancing towards Smuggler’s Rest, or another town or village on the coast of Emerlan Isle.

Her stomach growled.

Rose desperately wanted to stuff the delicious leftovers in her gob, but held herself back. It was possible she would have to ration out her limited food. Devouring it all now would be satisfying, but stupid.

Instead, her breakfast would be one apple and a few sips of water. It would have to be enough.

The first day came and went, marked by the setting of the sun and the passing of the moon. That night the clouds stayed thick, unrelenting in their mission to hide away the majesty of the moon and the light of the stars. It was frustrating.

With the stars visible, Rose would have been able to set herself on a proper course for Smuggler’s Rest. It lay in the direction of the Stormwind Star, just a little off from true east.

On the second day, she ate another apple for breakfast and by the time it reached the mid afternoon had drained two thirds of her first waterskin.

A sharp pain in her stomach forced her to have another bite to eat in the evening. She opted for the potatoes, since her mother had mashed them with milk and they would start to rot if left for much longer.

No ships had passed in those first thirty hours. That wasn’t unusual. Emerlan Isle didn’t have much in the way of trade and most folk travelled across land when going between towns and villages on the island.

Her desire to have a ship of her own had led Rose to steal the fishing boat and travel across the bay instead, which she now regretted just a tad.

It would’ve been a simple task to walk to Smuggler’s Rest and acquire a ship or look for a departing crew there. However, her path was set. Complaining would get her nowhere.

Two more days came and went. Rose ate the fish, and the last apple. The second waterskin was half full.

The rate at which she was drinking was much reduced, and she was very conscious of the fact that time was fast becoming her foe.

Humans could survive a few weeks without food, but it would take just three or four days to die without water.

That left her a week to be rescued or spot land– if she was being generous.

Rose was hopeful. The ocean could be a cruel mistress, but ever since she had been a child it had taken care of her.

Once, when she was four, Rose had strayed too far down the beach while waiting for her father to return from the day’s fishing.

A rock pool had caught her eye, filled with vibrant coloured fish that flitted about and swam down an underground stream. She had followed, and wandered into a cave.

High tide came fast in Fairwater Bay and Rose had been stranded, cut off from the path back to the beach.

As a girl it hadn’t been that scary. In fact, she saw it as something of an adventure. Her father had started to read stories of the famous pirates to her by then and when the sea whisked her away, carrying her out in its cold embrace, she had imagined herself to be embarking on a grand voyage like her heroes.

She still looked back on the incident with mixed feelings. The sea hadn’t drowned her or swept her out into the depths, instead depositing her back on the beach. A stroke of divine luck maybe. Or just regular old luck.

Regardless, she knew the dangers the ocean held. Which made her all the more angry at herself for missing such a crucial piece of preparation.

It would have taken her a minute, or less, to grab a compass on her way out the house. Instead, her luck was going to be tested once again.

By the sixth day, Rose was flagging. Her lips were dry and cracked and her skin was red and peeling.

Even through the thick clouds, which covered the sky and refused to clear, the sun beat down like a foreman’s whip.

Her breathing was ragged, each one a burning gasp of air down her dry throat. Her water had run out the day before, and the clock was running against her.

As the sun set, painting the horizon in vibrant and gorgeous shades of purple, red and orange, Rose lay down in the little fishing boat and thought about life.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad to have a mundane existence. There was beauty in routine. In the sheer mastery that came with performing the same actions every day, for a lifetime.

She saw it in the way her father cast his line. Every movement fluid, with no wasted energy. The way he gutted and deboned a fish without wasting a morsel of meat. Maybe she would have reached that level, with time.

A fabulous success story of piracy she was. Six days at sea, and already on her deathbed. Not quite as colourful a legend as Castell Saltbeard, it had to be said. A ripple in the waves drew her from her idle musings.

Rose wanted to leap to her feet. She had no strength left though, and the result was a lethargic clamber while using the mast for support that ended up with her just about staying upright in the centre of the tiny ship. However, she was glad to have spent the energy.

In the far distance and fast approaching was a small brigantine. It had all the trappings of a merchant vessel, and she cracked a smile, though regretted it straight away when her lip split and a drop of coppery blood dripped onto her tongue.

She had left home to begin her adventure as a pirate. Now, a week at sea later she had encountered her first merchant ship.

The mind tended to act in odd ways when dehydrated, which was perhaps why Rose decided to take up the oars and row toward it. A few minutes later, there was just fifty metres between them.

Here, she took the kitchen knife from her backpack and raised it high, before taking a step towards her target.

It was then that a bout of dizziness struck her, and her grip on the knife loosened. It slipped from her grasp and into the ocean with a faint splash, sinking into the depths as she fell backward into her boat.