The Whales Road Widow

I. Identity

The Whale’s Road Widow is a Greyholt-built longship, carved from pine and oak, iron-riveted and tar-sealed, once one of many in Drakkan Broad-Axe’s raiding fleet.
Now she is a ship apart — scorched, worn, and impossibly swift.

She carries the survivors of a dozen battles, the wounded of the Great Fair, and the hunted souls of a world turned inside out.
Her sail is white as bone, streaked with tar and soot.
Her hull bears the marks of fire.
But on open water, nothing can catch her.

II. Appearance

Hull

The hull is the natural hue of pine, golden-brown beneath streaks of black pitch and fire-scars.
You can see where new planks gleam pale beside the old — patchwork proof of Gudmund’s stubborn craft.
Her sides are clean-cut, low to the waterline; the iron rivets along her seams gleam darkly when wet.
Each plank bears a faint shimmer when lightning flashes — not magic, just the sheen of tar and salt polished by endless storms.

Despite her damage, she cuts through water like a blade —
no drag, no hesitation.
She moves as if the sea itself parts for her.

Prow

Her figurehead is a driftwood woman, mouth open in a frozen cry.
She is salt-pale, hair swept backward, eyes hollowed by time.
Sometimes, when the wind is behind her, the whistle through those hollows harmonizes with the oars —
a low, haunting sound like a song without words.
The crew say it’s the voice of every ship that sank beside her, pushing her forward.

Sail

The sail is white linen, tar-streaked, patch-repaired, and still catching perfect wind.
It bellies full even when other ships slacken.
The fleet says the air bends around it.
Gudrun swears the fabric hums in certain storms — a whisper beneath the wind that only she can hear.

In bright sun, the sail gleams like old bone.
In moonlight, it looks like a ghost’s shroud.

Mast and Rigging

The mast is a spliced pine trunk, shorter than standard, reinforced with iron bands.
The rigging is thick hemp, darkened with tar.
Even when other ships lose their lines to wind sheer, the Widow’s ropes hold.
Gudrun calls them “her veins,” and keeps them perfectly tensioned.

III. Dimensions and Structure