Legend Craft

1

We had yet another hundred leagues to go before we reached our destination, the floating island of Mettalia, where legends told tales of giants battling for dominion, toppling each other off into the blue depths, only to claw back on and renew the battle in a ceaseless war.2

The sun burned in the sky, and winds tore across the quavering ocean as we struggled onward. It doesn’t help to have a boat full of holes. But that made no difference to us, the crew of four. Weather-worn, sweat stained, and sinking fast, we piloted our marvelous craft. Sheba; the terror of the high seas. (and the low ones too) It twas I with my curling hair dripping with the water from the spray, captaining the ship; the short, red haired and fiery tempered deck hand; the wild and brown-haired boson; and last but not least, the golden haired beauty who for some reason insisted on sitting with her legs thrust through a gaping hole in the craft, being of absolutely no help at all; each longing to reach Mettalia and call its shining glory their own. At one point, the crew had been larger, but sadly many had either abandoned ship in fear of the dangers that came with the quest, or had simply thrown overboard by the wiles of the seas and of our treacherous craft.3

But despite the waning crew and our ebbing strength, we forged forward towards Metallia, where the giants still raged and sent waves emanating from where they had been cast into the waters, sending mighty splashes shooting skywards. Sheba toppled before one massive breaker, but luckily the crew was quick, and instead of attempting to stop the massive craft from being over thrown, they simply leaned with the weight, and allowed the craft to roll completely over. At this the blonde smiled and laughed uproariously, and then off we went again.4

The boson stood to attempt to catch a glimpse of the island, only to be knocked from the bow of ship and tumble into the swirling waters. Our deck hand, brave soul he was, dove off after the boson without a backwards glance, dragging him back to the only slightly safer bosom of Sheba. Both lay on the broken boards of the ship’s deck, gasping for breath. And still we moved slowly onward, the shores from which we departed now barely visible. 5

It took days to reach our destination, with many more great adventures along the way. However, to our great disappointment the legends of Mettalia had been untrue. The giants were mere men, caught in and endless fight over a resting place on the island’s blue shores. The stories had been spun by countless sailors who had passed by, hearing the loud sounds that rose from their fighting, and had grown the tale from there. Our crew had quite the ride of it though, and now, as I write this, we sit on Mettalia’s shores, dangling our weary legs down into the deep waters around her, with our faithful ship tied to one of the many outcroppings on the island’s cliff-like shores. We will rest here for a time, and then perhaps strike out to further, more legendary places in this ocean. May whoever reads this seek such adventure, for it is good.6