In every man's life there comes a time when...

The nameless landscape of the enemy boat betook Smarkand like a magic carpet. the drifts of lazy wind swept him up and took him to the upper reaches of golden sails that spanned the horizon. He couldn't even see the sea, it having slunk away to the area normally occupied by Outer Space; the vast atmosphere betwixt him and the sea clouded the vision.

The captian called something from the deck AND THUNDER RUMBLED IN THE AIR. Destruction seemed about to break loose, but Smarkand hung on. His Golden Journey had yet to begin. The fevered dreams of the previous night, the various insects that had tried to have him as an after dinner snack etc seemed to be from a different universe. As they most probably were but we digress.

The balls of steel were clutched to his chest, The pick of destiny on DVD. Moving to the edge of the mainsail after a journey of many days of clinging to weavings of cloth and nights of tying oneself often precariously to the material, he found his surfboard banked where he'd left it.

The waves were what skyscrapers are to ants. Which is pretty damn huge. But a surfers fear diminishes as a wave gets bigger. And since no surfer afraid of a big wave will ever be afraid of a smaller one, it goes without mention that logically surfers, as a whole were unfraid of waves, even hyperbolic tsunamis like the ones in 2012.

He leapt on to the board even as it slipped off its moorings and started to fall. It flew in the updrafts and swept forever downwards. Hopefully he wouldn't hit the deck by some ill luck. Destiny here he came.