Post by Hendrik Vanderdecken on Aug 28, 2011 23:45:11 GMT -5
He hadn’t had a blackout like this in three hundred years. But now Hendrik could not remember how he had gotten here; what he could possibly have been doing that led him to wake up in what appeared to be a little cottage in this strange, apparently deserted version of Amsterdam. Oh, yes, it was obviously his home city… and yet… the architecture was different than he remembered. Surely it couldn’t have changed so much in seven years, and even if it had, why would more of the city look older?
Despite how disconcerting it was to be alone, not knowing what had become of his ship and his crew, Hendrik stayed where he was. His time on land was too rare and precious for him to give any of it up without great reluctance. He’d remain here as long as he could, with the compulsion to return to the sea growing every day, until it was simply too strong for him to resist anymore. He’d built up a certain tolerance over the centuries, and could manage to be on land for over a month – sometimes closer to two – before that happened. But this time, it was different: sharper and more insistent, the way it had felt to him when he was first cursed.
Within three days, it had completely overwhelmed him. He normally stopped fighting when it would have become obvious to an observer that he was battling something, but right now, there was no one here to see. Dignity be damned: he grabbed trees, rocks, and the sides of buildings as he passed them, trying to find some way to buy more time; just another day or two, even in this bizarre almost-Amsterdam. It had been years since he’d been home, and he knew it would be years before he saw land again.
All attempts were in vain, however, and he soon found himself back on his ship. The only consolation was that it had indeed been waiting for him. His crew seemed just as confused as he was, though, and those he got a chance to speak to swore they hadn’t seen Captain Vanderdecken leave the Dutchman in the first place. Well, it was hardly possible to figure out what was going on now: they had to keep sailing, as they always did and always would.
But on the second day of their journey, they found themselves approaching the very island they’d just left. The same island the ship had been sailing away from. And he couldn’t help it: Hendrik had to know. So, after letting his first mate know what he was planning, the captain leapt overboard and swam towards the island.
Now he was onshore – something that should have been impossible, of course – but where exactly was he? This was just wrong for a normal 1940s city: he couldn’t remember all the time periods he’d lived through well enough to be able to tell for sure, but he would have said it looked very 18th-century.
Perhaps someplace where historical sections of the town had been rebuilt for the enjoyment and education of tourists? If so, these people were really into accuracy. The buildings, the way people were dressed, and unfortunately, even the smell of the place… they were all perfect. That last, though, was exactly why he suspected it was something more than that. No one would have wanted to risk driving off potential visitors by giving them so much authenticity they actually became ill.
Despite how disconcerting it was to be alone, not knowing what had become of his ship and his crew, Hendrik stayed where he was. His time on land was too rare and precious for him to give any of it up without great reluctance. He’d remain here as long as he could, with the compulsion to return to the sea growing every day, until it was simply too strong for him to resist anymore. He’d built up a certain tolerance over the centuries, and could manage to be on land for over a month – sometimes closer to two – before that happened. But this time, it was different: sharper and more insistent, the way it had felt to him when he was first cursed.
Within three days, it had completely overwhelmed him. He normally stopped fighting when it would have become obvious to an observer that he was battling something, but right now, there was no one here to see. Dignity be damned: he grabbed trees, rocks, and the sides of buildings as he passed them, trying to find some way to buy more time; just another day or two, even in this bizarre almost-Amsterdam. It had been years since he’d been home, and he knew it would be years before he saw land again.
All attempts were in vain, however, and he soon found himself back on his ship. The only consolation was that it had indeed been waiting for him. His crew seemed just as confused as he was, though, and those he got a chance to speak to swore they hadn’t seen Captain Vanderdecken leave the Dutchman in the first place. Well, it was hardly possible to figure out what was going on now: they had to keep sailing, as they always did and always would.
But on the second day of their journey, they found themselves approaching the very island they’d just left. The same island the ship had been sailing away from. And he couldn’t help it: Hendrik had to know. So, after letting his first mate know what he was planning, the captain leapt overboard and swam towards the island.
Now he was onshore – something that should have been impossible, of course – but where exactly was he? This was just wrong for a normal 1940s city: he couldn’t remember all the time periods he’d lived through well enough to be able to tell for sure, but he would have said it looked very 18th-century.
Perhaps someplace where historical sections of the town had been rebuilt for the enjoyment and education of tourists? If so, these people were really into accuracy. The buildings, the way people were dressed, and unfortunately, even the smell of the place… they were all perfect. That last, though, was exactly why he suspected it was something more than that. No one would have wanted to risk driving off potential visitors by giving them so much authenticity they actually became ill.
