My father told me that stick could do wonders. I never believed him until the pirates attacked.
I know, I know, I'm way ahead of myself. My father was not a man to show off, so I had always thought that the hand-carved walking stick looked a little outl of place with him. It was beautifully decorated, had an eagle's head, detailed down to the feel of the feathers, stars, moons, and, best of all, waves and dolphins.
Right as I turned eighteen years of age, my father fell ill, and it would be for the last time. He called me to his bedside. He looked small and fragile in his bed, but his hands were still strongly holding the stick, his eyes glowed with pride.
"Son, I've lived a good life," he started, "the world has been mostly kind, I have no regrets. There is something I want to tell you before I go." He handed me the stick.
As he had many times before, he told me the story of how he got the stick, about the battle he fought side by side with the great wizard Armanel, and the grand magical powers the stick had. But this time, he told me a warning: Let no one steal this from you, or the world could be in great danger.
The next day, he passed on. It was truly my time to find my place as a man, and that path led me to the sea.
All the stick was to me, after all, was a symbol of the two things on earth I loved most, my father and the open ocean. I signed on with a merchant ship, and when I stowed my unneeded things, the stick went with them. As I said, I never believed it had power.
Halfway through our course, between Spain and England, trouble struck. A smaller, single-masted sloop came alongside us, firing their guns, wounding our captain, and badly damaging our ship. Their lines were tossed over, and they were coming aboard, whether we liked it or not.
These were men who knew how to hurt, and my crewmates were going down left and right. I managed to hold my own, even sending a couple of pirates to their watery graves, but it would only be a matter of time.
When it looks bleakest is when you grab for anything to pull yourself out, and my thoughts went to the stick. Fighting my way into my cabin, I quickly found the stick, and did the only thing I knew to do: close my eyes and think of the worst thing I could to try and scare these evil men away.
And out of the ocean it came. A beast with a crocodile's head, many arms, at the end of which were cobras. It's hair was blue flame, and when it roared, that horrible deep growling rumble, the ship shook like it was tossed in a hurricane's waves. Before we knew it, the pirates jumped off the deck anyway they could, got on their ship, and pulled away like they were powered by stronger stuff than the wind.
What was left of my crew was recovering now, and they saw the creature. They were ready to swim for Spain, hundreds of miles behind us, so I bade the monster leave.
To say the least, I was a believer then.
Silently, I thanked my father for the great gift he trusted me with, and hoped the next in our line would cherish it as well.