[quote][center][i][u]Old Ghosts[/u]

I am followed by men
I cannot see.
Accompanied by a chilling breeze --
it congeals -- drips from my skin,
thick icy water,
before it becomes one 
with the fog-filled air.
Hovering stagnant 
above churching waters
where I cannot draw breath,
trapped by my own refuge.
I know they see me,
how I imagined them.
As a slug removed from his shallow shell,
as a paper skinned husk, charred by fire,
as an empty head, throat retching,
as his brains spill from his mouth.
My childish wit hides –
this time—
and this time, they seek.
I await a dying candle,
while I’m choked by the sea.[/i][/center][/quote]

Poetry had always been one of Garil’s favorite forms of art. The potential to divine so many different meanings from multiple readings, to invoke different emotions, each so complex and for different reasons, ought to have been the sole intention of artistry. This was not to say he was by any right an artist himself, or was worthy of critiquing art, but if an artist could not appeal to the commoner, then they have failed, no? This poem did appeal to Garil, even if it did imbue him with an emotion akin to a child eating fruit seeds, who then worried that a tree would grow from their belly and sink their roots in. Garil had no reason to worry or feel fretful; the Kismet was supposed to have been captained by one of the most capable sailors of the western hemisphere, or at least one of the most popular. Any dread was sure to be placated upon the very sight of a ship with the grandest of sails hoisted upon its mast, and the cocksure panache of Captain Ravana. Unfortunately, this was not the case, even under the shadow of their grandeur. Perhaps then, he could hide in this shadow until the sense of trepidation comes to pass.

Those few hours ago seemed distant now, as the dunmer sat lonesome atop the railings alongside the main deck. He coiled his ankle around a taut length of rope along the outside hull should he lose his balance – something which he highly doubted would happen, but such precautions were second-nature by now – with his other foot flat against the railing as well, with one leg arched and securely in the crook of one of Garil’s arms to keep himself upright. He had already conducted his business with the captain earlier; such a man he knew to be wisened against any form of payments outside of down payments in gold, but the bank of Daggerfall was more than willing to accept Garil’s writ for a loan, which he used to generously pay the captain for a private cabin on board the ship. Quite literally, he spared no expense.

Unfortunately, once again, it wasn’t quite what he expected. Rather, it was exactly what he expected, but the lavish living wasn’t quite his style. It felt too rich, the bed was too soft, and it felt like a place where he didn’t belong. Never mind the fact that he felt as though it put a target on his back. So, upon more investigating of the vessel, he found the standard quarters to be more to his liking. The woven hammocks felt better against his back and for his posture, and he had little enough belongings to keep it underneath. Now it just came to whomever he could find that wanted the room. He wasn’t necessarily interested in making money from the ticket either, simply giving it away was fine with him.

It wasn’t like it costed him anything, anyways.

He had preoccupied himelf with staring at the horizon, watching the seagulls float in the breeze, and swelling his cheeks with a handful of seeds. Before long, other passengers were beginning to board the vessel. Some had apparently awoken and come crawling out from beneath the deck – had that Argonian always been here? Others, like an Imperial woman came aboard followed by her pet Khajiit, and soon enough, another Argonian came aboard. Strange. He didn’t think there’d be so many of them out this way – not that it was a problem, of course. Just peculiar. He didn’t have much time to stew on such thoughts until the Khajiit came stomping over his way. Perhaps stomping would be the wrong term, as the massive Cathay-raht was woefully at a clear disadvantage when his weight caused the wood beneath him to creak slightly. Perhaps the pads of his feet could silence the thuds had he not been wearing footwear. 

Perhaps coming his way would also be the wrong phrasing, as he barely given him any notice and instead sat atop a barrel some few meters away. Garil craned his head around curiously to get a good appraisal of the Khajiit and his belongings. Older, wears fine clothes, but there was also a ruggedness to him that spoke “adventurer.” If he had been doing so if he’s been around, he surely had plenty of stories to tell. He surely must’ve been quite capable too. So, then, was he an escort to the ravishing woman he accompanied on board? She looked quite fanciful – this Khajiit must have been payed a pretty septim for the company. That meant there was a certain level of trust confided in him, which was nothing to scoff at, Garil figured.

“Say, friend,” Garil commented abruptly, his voice distorted by the mouthful of seeds and nuts, “you look like you’re on a business trip, are you not? Or are you just enjoying the weather? It’s really quite lovely today. Perhaps a fine honeymoon with the lass?”