Wiping the salty film from about his eyes, he surveyed the horizon, the coastline of Britian just in view. Taking a deep breath of the cool sea air, a strange feeling suddenly overtook him, the water begining to lap at the side of the boat a bit louder as if an unseen audience were obeserving his daily morning ritual.
Just as he was recovering from the eerie sensation, the boat began to list...hard. It rock as though it was beign tossed about in a hurricane, but there was not a cloud to be found in the entire sky. Deftly, he grasped onto the spar so as not to be thrown into the sea and turned into so much flotsam and jetsam on the shore of Lord British's grand city. Jonah looked right and left, spying his fishing pole left carelessly lashed to the stern to troll overnuight. He grimaced as he rememebred what his father had told him time and again about leaving a rod or net unattended, the though sent him dashing along the slick planks of the deck as best as he could to the aft section of the boat.
Pulling with all his might, he tugged the pole's catch toward the deck, another loud groan this time not originating from the tired old boat, but rather issued from below the water as two crimson eyes peered up from the depths of the black sea. Jonah's eyes widened, as startled, he nearly flung the pole overboard. His heels dug into the deck in a vain attempt to remain upright as he scrambled back in fear. Although normally nimble and fairly surefooted, the slimy sea soaked boards combined with trembling legs thwarted Jonah's efforts and he fell flat on his back, the wind knocked clear of his lungs.
The beast arose from the depths, it's massive coiled body writhing to and fro, sending a dread sparkle from its reddish purple scales in the pale light of the dan. Salty seawater sprayed him like the mist at the base of a mommoth waterfall, soaking the terrified fisherman as he looked on in abject horror. The serpent shrieked as it reached it's full height, tall enough to dwarf event he most valorous of paladins, let alone a humble fisherman from even humbler origins in the port town of Skara Brae.
Jonah had not noticed until this very moment that since he had dropped his fishing pole, his left had been instinctively gripping the hilt of his kryss with white knuckles. The moment seemed to slow down, as his mind was suddenly flooded with memories of the other boys that lived on the wharf where he grew up.
As a boy, Jonah was always skinny and sickly looking which made him the target of ridicule among all his peers until one day his uncle Taerlin visited with his cousin Jieret, a young man of 22 searsons. Jieret noticed that the gangly teenage boy was sorely lacking in confidence and self esteem, but also observed that one thing he had were sharp reflexes from years of sitting mate in his father's fishing boat, chasing the fish that had escaped from the nets and tying off sails in high winds. Jieret was a finely formed young man, very strong and tall, but lean from his father's side just as Jonah was and a very adept warrior. Although not being a fighting man himself, Steiven granted his brother's son, Jieret, the permission to train Jonah in a skill that Jieret assured Steiven would teach him the defend himself, and to gain a biit more confidence in everyday life.
Upon meeting for their first lesson Jieret reached into his tunic and pulled out the first weapon that Jonah would come to own, an old dagger, a bit rusty, but with a special gleam that betrayed it's magical properties. Jonah carefully took the dagger and gingerly turned it about in his hand. The moment his long, work worn fingers wrapped around it, he felt as though it taught him how to thrust, and where to hit for the best results. Wide-eyed, he grinned at Jieret, who smiled and hefted his staff, hir brow lifting questioningly.
The two sparred until early monring the next day, and the whole following week unitl Taerlin returned to Minoc with his son to hunt ettins and orcs that constantly harassed the townspeople. Over the next few years, Jonah would go to Britain and study the art of fencing with the masters in the warrior's guild, not forsaking his family trade of fishing and visiting his father and mother as often as his studies would allow. Finally, the years of training would pay off in this, the moment of truth, the memory fading as time returned to it's fromer tempo.
The serpent still bore down on him as before, it's rank breath of fish guts and hapless seafarers making him cringe as it let out another ear shattering shriek. Feeling the spark of courage flowing through his veins like raw power, he rose to his feet in defiance of the monster's will that beckoned to cow him as easy prey. He straightened up, drawing the wickedly twisted blade of his kryss, the dissonant ring of the steel escaping it's scabbard giving the serpent something to think about as it slowly began to inch back from the deck.
"A blade enchanted to vanquish is nothing to take lightly no matter what species of foul creature you happen to be." Jonah said a bit shakily at first, but twards the end of the statement his words reflected bravado that would make his weapons master proud. Finally gaining the courage to speak of the matter at han, he began to try to reason with the beast "Perhaps you'd like to reconsider, no?" He asked slyly, a wispy grin spreading across his lips. The weapon gleamed in the growing light; the dread green promise of deadly poison coating it's jagged edge. THe deep sea serpent looked past the seemingly humble fisherman to the hold at the bow, the spols of past treasures fished up spilling onto the deck. Greed overtook the foul reptile, the decision to strike sealed by its insatiable need for riches. Ready for whatever would come, Jonah let the skill of a master fencer possess his movements and he stood ready.