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In the year of our Lord 1490,
amid the tumult of the fifteenth century, life in Europe was a tapestry woven
with hardship, discovery, and danger. It was an era when ships dared the
treacherous unknown, driven by greed, curiosity, and the relentless pursuit of
wealth and glory.
Among the grim figures of this
age was T'Ohharre, a young man condemned to twenty years of imprisonment for
theft and rebellion. Little did he know that his life was about to take a
perilous turn, granting him an opportunity for redemption - or doom.
T'Ohharre sat in the damp, dark
cell, the air thick with the stench of sweat and despair. His punishment seemed
unending, the days blending into nights, the walls closing in.
Then, one day, a gaunt man
entered - Captain RoZdriggo, a seasoned mariner with a reputation for daring
exploits and a reputation for bending the rules of justice.
“Listen, lad,” RoZdriggo said,
voice rough but steady. “Your sentence is twenty years. But I have an offer.
Join my crew as an oarsman for the voyage to the East - a mission of
exploration and conquest. If you survive and serve for five years, your sentence
is pardoned. If not, you remain a prisoner, or worse.”
The proposition was risky,
perhaps even suicidal. But T'Ohharre , driven by desperation and a spark of
hope, nodded. “I accept.”
It was common during this era
for prisoners to serve as crew on ships bound for distant lands. The promise of
freedom, or at least an escape from the cell, outweighed the dangers of storms,
disease, and death. Only a very few have survived the harsh conditions of the
prisons during that period. It was worse than accepting the job as an
oarsman.
T'Ohharre taken aboard the
ZannO' Crrissttóball, a sturdy vessel with a rugged crew of men from various
backgrounds - some seasoned sailors, others desperate like himself. The voyage
commenced at dawn, the sails unfurled to catch the wind, propelling them into
the vast, unforgiving Atlantic.
The first weeks were grueling.
The ship rolled violently in storms, waves crashing over the deck. The men
endured relentless seasickness, hunger, and exhaustion. Disease was rampant;
scurvy took its toll, leaving men with swollen gums and bleeding wounds.
Several fell ill and died, buried at sea with little ceremony.
T'Ohharre, young and resilient,
fought through each hardship, his muscles aching, his spirit wavering but never
broken. He learned to read the stars, to tend to the sick, and to row
tirelessly. The camaraderie among the crew grew, forged through shared sufferings.
Months did pass as T'Ohharre,
and his band of outlaws roamed the vast, unforgiving ocean; their hearts
set upon gold and glory. They quaffed the fiery spirits distilled from distant
lands -claret, rice wine, and the fiery brew of unknown herbs - that made their
heads spin and their tempers fierce.
One night, Captain RoZdriggo,
the raucous captain, clambered to the ship’s quarterdeck, clutching a battered
mug. “Lads! To the spirits that keep us from the abyss! To the fire in our
veins and the madness of our souls! Drink ye deep, for tomorrow’s deed shall be
as bloody as today’s!”
The crew roared, their voices thick with drunkenness.
“Ooh,
aye! And a banner red!
Ooh,
aye! And spirits, pluck and braggart!
We’ll
burn the brine, seize their gold,
and
drown all sorrow in the foam!”
They staggered and swayed, singing drunken songs of
rebellion, adventure, and reckless defiance, clutching at rigging, howling at
the moon.
In their drunken fury, they crafted a wild, unholy
chorus that reverberated across the waves:
Ooh,
aye! and a banner red,
Ooh,
aye! To strike terror and dread,
We
sail with spirits high and cannons loud,
And
break the law instead!
With
bottles cracked and hearts of fire,
We
conquer, loot, and plunder,
Sea
rovers bold, unbowed and wild,
No
man can tame our thunder!
Laughter and shouts mingled with the crashing surf,
their voices rising in drunken chorus. By flickering lantern light and roaring
fires, they gathered in chaos. Shelled crabs, lobsters, and fresh fish were
cracked open and devoured greedily, faces smeared with salt and grease. They
fought over the choicest morsels, brawling and roaring like beasts.
RoZdriggo, brandishing a
flaming flask, cried, “Hark, good fellows! Nothing beats fresh catch and fiery
drink! Here’s to the sea and to us - the scourge of all! Ho, drink, and be
merry!” He poured fiery spirits into shells or small cups, setting them alight
before passing them ‘round. The crew guzzled with abandon, spirits fueling
their madness. They sang bawdy songs, danced drunkenly, and brawled amid the
chaos.
Suddenly, one sailor slipped, knocking over a pot of
boiling seafood - hot broth splashing onto his mates, who howled in drunken
laughter, salt and sweat mixing on their face.
As the night deepened, their drunken revelry turned to
frantic preparation. They had already learned from local blacksmiths at their home
country how to forge crude cannons and muskets, mixing gunpowder from sulfur,
saltpeter, and charcoal - then filling old barrels with explosive fury.
RoZdriggo, wild-eyed,
hammered on a makeshift cannon. “Brothers! With fire and steel, we shall be
gods of the sea! None shall withstand our wrath!”
They fired volleys of homemade cannonballs, smashing
ships and shattering hopes. Muskets and pistols were loaded with trembling
hands, the deafening crack of gunfire echoing across the waves. Their vessel
became a floating fortress of chaos, a terror to all merchant vessels and rival
pirates alike.
One foggy eve, the lookout cried out, “Sail ho! A
merchant ship adrift - no more than a ghostly specter!”
RoZdriggo’s eyes gleamed
with greed. “Hold fast, ye scurvy curs! Tonight, we feast on treasure!”
They stormed aboard with shouts, gunfire, and swinging
ropes. Men with muskets fired volleys, pirates leaping like beasts. They tore
through the ship’s hold, gathering gold, silk, spices, and jewels - riches from
distant lands.
Apart from looting other ships, they indulged in their darkest
appetites whenever possible. They anchored quietly in the dark nights close to
some small islands inhabited by tribal people. Then they dragged native women
onto their vessel - fierce, unyielding - and their cries were drowned by shouts
and gunfire. Some women fought fiercely, slashing with knives or wielding
makeshift weapons, but the drunken pirates overpowered them with brutal
strength. The air was thick with roars, screams, and the clash of steel.
RoZdriggo roared, “These
wenches are ours, by God’s cursed grace! No land nor sea shall stay our course.
When the pirates cast anchor on savage, uncharted
shores, chaos erupted anew. The jungle was thick, the air heavy with the scent
of blood and sweat. As they disembarked, stomping through tangled undergrowth,
their eyes gleamed with greed and bloodlust.
RoZdriggo bellowed, “These
maidens are ours, by the devil’s own decree! No land nor spirit shall deny us!”
The captives were dragged aboard, their cries drowned
amid drunken shouts, gunfire, and riotous laughter. The shores echoed with chaos;
native songs drowned out by the roars of invaders - blood staining the sands. However, some crew members were killed by the poisoned arrows shot by the natives. And invaders never hesitated to capture some native men as slaves to be used as oarsmen.
Back aboard ship, they turned their spoils into a riotous feast. They cooked the seafood - turtles, fish, shellfish - over open fires. Shells cracked, meat devoured greedily, faces greasy with salt and sweat.
RoZdriggo, raising a flaming flask, roared, “To land and sea! To chaos and conquest! Nothing can stay our course!”
They sang bawdy, drunken songs, reveling in their
savage deeds. The night echoed with their wild voices, the screams of native
women, and the thunder of their drunken revelry.
With gunpowder, muskets, and cannons, they became
unstoppable. Their ship, a floating terror, struck fear into all who saw it.
They fired volleys -shattering ships, sinking hopes.
RoZdriggo shouted, “We are
gods of the brine! Warriors of fire, steel, and spirits! No force can stay us!”
Greed drove them ever onward - attacking more ships,
plundering, killing, raping along the way. Their drunkenness and chaos never
ceased. They drank spirits by the gallon; minds clouded with fury and lust.
RoZdriggo, raising a flaming flask, roared, “To land and sea! To chaos and conquest! Nothing can stay our course!”
Their reputation grew - feared, hated, and despised - by
all who knew their savage, drunken raid.
After six months of relentless
voyage, the lookout spotted real land - a lush, green coast that stretched as far as
the eye could see. They had reached a distant country in the East, its
shores uncharted by many Europeans.
They disembarked, and for the
first time after they set sail, T'Ohharre set foot on real foreign country's soil. The landscape was vibrant and
strange: towering temples, bustling markets, and exotic wildlife. The locals
welcomed them cautiously, wary of these strange visitors from the West.
T'Ohharre, with his captain and
fellow oarsmen, began exploring the land. They traded, observed, and learned.
The native people were hospitable but wary, their society rich with traditions
and customs different from Europe. T'Ohharre marvelled at the intricate
craftsmanship of their jewelry and textiles.
During their stay, the crew’s
greed grew. Rumors of a wealth-laden ship from another European land reached
their ears. One night, under cover of darkness, they attacked this ship at the
sea. The trade vessel was caught unawares. The battle was fierce; swords
clashed, cannons roared. The pirates, now seasoned and ruthless, captured the
ship and looted its treasure - gold, precious stones, silks, and spices. The
loot was staggering. Captain RoZdriggo used this loot to woo the King and other
rulers of the country they landed. King pleased with these gifts allowed them
to build a fort. But he was totally unaware of the pirate activity the visitors
were doing at the sea.
The crew’s brutality knew no
bounds. They molested some native women, a heinous act that stained their
souls. The local population was enraged, but the Europeans, driven by greed,
paid little heed to the consequences. They plotted all sorts of tricks that
made the Kings and other rulers fight each other and this lack of unity made
the natives weaker. Utilizing this golden opportunity the visitors looted the
wealth of the country to the maximum possible.
They stayed in this land for
five years, plundering, trading, and sowing chaos. T'Ohharre, hardened by the
tough and rough life, grew more ruthless, yet he also saw the suffering
inflicted upon innocent people. His conscience was a tumult of guilt and greed.
Finally, their ships was loaded
with wealth - gold coins, precious stones, and rare artifacts. As they prepared
to leave, other European ships arrived, drawn by tales of riches. The crew, now
seasoned pirates and explorers, set sail once more.
Over the next three years
T'Ohharre and his crew roamed the seas, attacking ships, trading, and amassing
wealth. Their actions became infamous, their names whispered in fear across
ports.
At last, T'Ohharre's
sentence was complete. His original punishment was over, and he was free, or so
he thought. With ships filled with stolen treasure, he set course for Europe,
eager to return home and claim his reward. By this time Captain RoZdriggo has
died and by order of the King of his country, T'Ohharre became the captain the entire fleet. By this time the number of ships in his fleet increased; all laden with gold, precious stones, exotic spices, silk, priceless antiques, etc. He is now not a convict anymore but a brave explorer who has brought
great laurels and riches for his home country!
The voyage back was perilous
but swift. They faced storms, pirate hunters, and treacherous waters, but their
treasure shielded them. This was the time when T'Ohharre reflected on his life.
One night, T'Ohharre
sat alone on the deck, gazing at the blood-red sky. The chaos, the violence,
the drunkenness gnawed at his soul. He softly sang a lament, a song of regret
and despair:
Ooh,
and a flag of red,
To
drown my soul’s despair,
The
spirits, guns, and endless war,
Hath
left me in despair.
We
fought and ravaged, hearts grown cold,
Our
deeds, most foul and grim,
A
life of chaos, greed untold,
Hath
stolen peace from him.
His voice faded into the crashing waves, a haunting
echo of the darkness that consumed their reckless voyage.
When finally, they docked in a
port of their country T'Ohharre felt a mixture of relief and guilt.
He returned to his homeland after
so many years; the journey having taken him farther than he ever imagined. The
wealth he carried was immense - gold, diamonds, gemstones, and artifacts from distant
lands. His reputation as a ruthless adventurer was secured, though his soul
remained burdened by the sins of his actions.
He was in fact surprised
at the change in the attitude of his countrymen when he returned. Now, he has
become a hero whereas when he set sail years ago none even bothered to look at
him! Even some of his 'relatives' have turned up to welcome him when he
returned!
The story of T'Ohharre, the
convict turned explorer, was not unique. Many others - fellow crew members,
prisoners, and explorers - had followed similar routes, driven by greed and the
promise of salvation through conquest. It was an era of discovery and destruction,
a time when the seas were both a highway of opportunity and a graveyard of
countless lives.
Epilogue
T'Ohharre lived the rest of his days in relative wealth; he has become a distinguished VIP in his country. The King has awarded him so many laurels. However, he was haunted by memories of the suffering he caused. His story became a cautionary tale of ambition, greed, and the perilous pursuit of fortune during the fifteenth century. The oars he once pulled in despair had carried him to wealth and ruin alike.
His successors and descendants
thrived on this immense wealth. They became the elite and royals in that country. The truth got blurred as years went by and the
family was portrayed as great heroes of the country. They carefully erased the
delicate matter of him being a convict and the atrocities he committed in a
foreign country from the history or these issues faded into oblivion as
centuries rolled by.
The oceans of the world, vast
and indifferent, had witnessed many such odysseys - journeys of men seeking
redemption or damnation, bound by the tides of fate.
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