The power of story

Myth- 227
Stephen N. Dethrage

As the ship rocked viciously on the furious waves of the sea near Crete, his blood, almost black in the inky darkness of twilight, splattered first, staining the faces of the surrounding crew, then poured out onto the deck, then, in the end, merely dripped weakly into the growing puddle below. The storm around them intensified so fiercely that the very sea seemed to leap onto the deck, and the resulting brackish tides raced along the planks of the ship until, at last, they met the crimson pool beneath him. Terrified crewmen looked on as his blood mingled with the waters of the deep and foamed obscenely, as though the sea god himself sought to taste of the sacrifice. Around them, the waves calmed for the first time in days, and in mere minutes, the placid surf around the ship seemed more like a lake, and less like the unforgiving oceans that had so aggressively haunted their entire voyage. The crew relaxed at last, and knew deep within themselves that the ragged man before them was not murdered. He was a necessary appeasement to the gods they all served. Beneath them, the boards of the ship began to absorb the shed blood of another fool who chose to blaspheme Poseidon, the stains of which would forever testify to the power of story over the minds of men.