This is a pretty conventional opening to a quasi-Odyssey tale of adventure at sea. Feel free to add anything you'd like.
My father and I fished the bay near Mirelor for the long silverfish, red-fleshed and valuable for their oil. We fished them with harpoons we made with metal from old battles reforged.
But when there was wind and no clouds, my father would become courageous, and so we would take our small boat beyond the breakers into the swells where we would fish with nets. Then we wanted the yul, topaz-like schools prized for their peppery flavor by the painted aristocrats in their palaces in Mirelor.
Going into the swells was rare for us because it was dangerous. In that land, storms came swiftly from the west, and a fisherman's boat in the swells does not last long.
On this day the sky was clear and the wind was right, and so we raised a mast, rowed past the breakers, and let the wind fill our sun-bleached sail of pale crimson.
We tied the aromatic gray spiders to the weights and nets that that yul loved, and we waited. The movement of the swells made me drowsy, and my father sang a song and sipped red juice, and so I drifted into dream .
I awoke to a thunder clap. A storm had come and both my father and I had slept through its approach.
Standing, grabbing our single mast, I saw a sight in the light of the lightning that stole my breath: our little boat was on a swell the size of a mountain, and it was tilting and tipping. My father was behind me yelling: "Bring down the sail or the mast will break!"
It happened too quickly. Before I could gain my footing and untie the knot, splinters flew into my face as the mast broke. As I had been gripping the ropes, I was nearly pulled into the bay. My father grabbed my waist and held me, though I received a mouth full of brine. My eyes stung with it.
Taking our small boning knife, we cut the ropes, and gripped tight to our vessel as it fell into the trough. My stomach swirled and although I am a worthy sailor, I gave up my breakfast of bread, yogurt, and smoked tubers then.
We could do nothing but wait, endure crest and trough as the winds and lightning and rain howled and moaned above, and with every trough our boat came dangerously close to tilting over.
For how long this lasted, I do not know, but I prayed. I prayed to the Insane Sisters who rule the sea. And I prayed to the Frog God whose alabaster idol grinned in the flickering light of many candles in the ancient mud hut in the center of our village. And I prayed to the Thirty Dancers who laughed and danced in the firehalls of Kel and gave men dreams and fantasies.
Eventually the storm gave way, and the sun was rising, and both my father and I saw the purple tendrils of it drifting into east and the yellow sun ushering it away.
We had escaped the storm, yes, but land was nowhere in sight. We did not know where we were. There were no stars of yet to navigate by.