It's a weird feeling, when you cannot see.

When the one sense you rely on the most is stripped from you with flick of a switch.

Like If you were to take away a birds wings or a mermaid's tail. Now, I really regret neglecting my other sense more than ever in my short life. I can see nothing except the endless void that has swallowed me whole. If it weren't for the the the feeling of my world tilting from left to right followed by the sound of croaking wood, I'd have thought that I was indeed stuck in some void, neither awake nor asleep. I am very clearly aboard a ship. An old one, my ears tell me. I almost wish I could have my sense of smell completely removed as the pungent smell of mould and rotting rum burns up my nostrils. A cargo hold of sorts that also acts as dungeon, is where I appear to be held— peculiar — I guess Bjornson seems to be running out of treasuries, resorting to such low budget quarters. They have me hanging from the ceiling by my arms like a damn fish, my feet barely grazing the floorboards. This puts a whole lot of bloody strain on the muscle of my aching shoulders. How long I have been hanging here, I do know, but it must me long enough to have me tensing my muscles instinctively to keep my bones from ripping out their sockets. It's a rather cruel arrangement, a little bit too much, but genius. I will be using this idea as my own. Except I won't be binding my own prisoners with rope. A miniscule slip up on their behalf that will be the reason for my escape. Perks of being underestimated. I must admit, if this wasn't the case I probably wouldn't have a shot at escaping. But It is. So at first, I work my wrists, wiggling them in order to find out just how tight the knot is. The answer, very tight, incredibly so, tied by the bulky hands of bjornson himself, no doubt. Well, it seems like this is going to be a lot more painful than I prefer. A sigh escapes my lips, before I tense my shoulders, bending my elbows and pulling My aching body up. It is a greater effort as I haven't touched water nor food in who knows how long, it also doesn't help that my arms are not the Strongest muscles in my body. When my head is just about level with my forearm, do I brush the side of it againt the leather sleeve on my upper arm, feeling for the sheath as I pray to the gods that the bjornsons had fumbled once again not searching for any weapons. Once again I imagine this would be easier If I could actually see. My prayers are answer with a sting on my cheek. I wince at the pain of a cut, before turning my head towards where the blade seems to be. Using my teeth, I pull it from its sheath, careful not to cut my tongue as It slides out with a soft shing, My body drops in relief, and the exertion on my muscles cools for a second as I catch my back. Atleast i managed to find a blade, although it would've been nice to do so with an unscathed cheek. But I know I am not done yet. I have successfully completed the easy part, with an additional conformation of the Bjornson Raiders stupidity. Now time for the actually hard part. I take a deep breath, the infested air filling my lungs before pulling my body back up. My muscles protest and cry but I push up more more more until my arms are fully bent, my elbow closed into itself. The rope strains and with each second I am afraid it will collapse. The fall will not be long, but without visual confirmation, my backstabbing mind convinces me otherwise. Tentatively, I bring my mouth to to my bound wrists that I now hugged to my chest, careful not to nip them as I attempt to position the cool blade between the rope and sore wrists. This is impossible as the knot is too damn tight. With a deep breath, I push the blade in, pain ripping my wrists as it slices through the thin layer of my skin, drawing thick blood. After an eternity of agony, I manage to finally set the blade in the right place. And then I begin cutting. Nodding my head up and down as each small thread begins to nip away. It is turmoil. All the muscles in my body aching, and trembling in exertion, the burn in my core, the feeling of disoriention as my vision is clouded, and the way more blood trails down my arm all the way to my elbow and down onto the floor with a thud with each and every slice. The worst of it is time. It takes much more longer to cut in such circumstances, and each extra second feels like an extra eternity. And all I want to do is give up, collapse and accept my fate, but I can't, I won't, so I fight. With all my will I fight, with every last drop of evergy and being within me. I fight. I fight. I must. Snap. The rope snaps and my body is falling, my heart following suit. I still expect it to be a much longer fall, to stretch as far as the corners of my absent vision. But it is obviously not. Instead my body hits the floor almost immediately with a loud thud, gravity taking suit. And pain shooting up my tailbone up my back and the back of my head. I see for the first time, stars. Bright stars swimming in my blackend vision. And I cant breathe, the air vacuumed out my body by the whiplash. I stay there for a few torturous seconds to catch my breath, the pain almost too much, the aches of my muscles, the dripping down my arms, cheek and now nose. "My god," my voice sounds so different, coarse, "Curse you Bjornson," I call out into the darkness to no one in particular, he really is not giving me a break. My senses finally return, my breath finally evening out, the stars disappearing, and I am finally able to look past the pain. I am suddenly very aware of my surroundings. The way the ship sways, but not enough to send me swaying scurrying to the other side of the room, but enough to slightly shift me from side to side. More than a few moments ago. I realize. There also seems to be a soft rumbling in the distance, so distant i have to strain to hear it. The ship must be heading into a storm. It's very humid in here though, warm even, so much so my garments are practically stuck to my body. No wonder why it was so difficult to catch my breath. But this makes me draw my brows, confusion pulling at me as my mind tries to decipher where we are headed. We are definitely north, probably close to the west coast of the mainland, judging by the humidity and thunder storms. But there are rarely any storms at sea in the north, especially of this range. This revelation only heightens my confusion. It doesn't make sense. But the confusion soon turns to dread as my heart drops again. Realization. Yes there are no storms at sea in the northwest, at least those which are natural. There is one though, one that has been raging since as old as most can remember, a natural phenomenon, stronger than any to ever be. It is said to have been forged by the hands of Kaelros himself. The tempest of time. A headache breaks out in the back of my head as it all sinks in. It is so obvious, why i have been brought here. After all there is only one plausible reason. And I am utterly fucked.