Stick The Landing

[Captain on the Wind]

The damp boards of the small ferrying boat moaned as the waves crashed at its side. The night was cold and a strong western wind blew towards a now approaching land mass. The Minnow’s Jest creaked slowly on the open waters, her captain at the helm and oblivious of the tourists around him. The grizzled old sea dog was alert and focused on his job. A long beard grew in tangled gray strands that caught specks riding the wind. His clothes, like his personality, were made salty, crusty and damp by the constant loneliness at sea. He was the only real seaman on deck and yet again in the employ of another merchant looking to expand his profits to a new land. He could not do anything about the repulsion he felt towards these conniving businessmen, no sense of the honor he had been brought up on. An entire life at sea would do that to a man.

Not many ventured out at the late hour to watch the sun rise. The occasional anxious passengers made it out to see the next stop on their journey - most likely tourists on their way to what they hoped would be a romantic getaway from their tedious lives. The majority of the travelers stuck to the cargo bay in an attempt to avoid the dreaded sea sickness.

On a rare occasion, the merchant loaning the ship's cargo hold would come out to have a look about. He would move around the ship trying to look very professional, inspecting all the important-looking parts. He had no idea what any of them did or what purpose they served.

As the small boat neared the end of its journey, the passengers began to file slowly outside, eagerly waiting to disembark and take their first steps on a new land. The tide was low and the air crisp. The rickety old vessel made slow progress down the last six miles to coast.

As the thirty-foot ship rocked with the waves, a man walked out of the cargo bay draped in an old tattered brown cloak and made his way to the bow of the ship. He was careful to avoid a direct line of sight from the captain: he was a stowaway, after all. A long slender creature followed him out of the door, moving gracefully behind him. The two were at once distinguishable from the rest of the passengers. He walked with a careful, well adjusted step - a man well acquainted with travel on the water.

The couple who had been standing on the deck turned and watched them pass, whispering to themselves, clearly intrigued by the strange four-legged creature that made its way out of the cargo bay so nobly and debating what kind of breed it was. The strange pair stopped at the front of the boat, the man leaning on the railing to get a good look at the land ahead. The animal wore nothing. Its fur, a light brown hue, glowed mystically as it hopped onto the railing and rested easily against the man’s shoulder.

This creature was a Karuku-tal: a cursed, yet noble predator from the distant sands of Fallian. Its graceful frame was almost four feet from head to the base of its tail. While the tail was a little over two feet on its own. Very little body fat could be seen on its body, with the short hair that could nearly be called fluff. Its flat head had longer patches of hair and harbored two milky blue eyes which were close to blind. The Karuku-tal, under normal circumstances, were born and raised in complete darkness, using the sensors in their noses to pick up on electromagnetic fields, while their long whiskers acted as dishes to channel and code the those signals. This creature was an exception, having been experimented on, magically, as a kitten, it was not afflicted by the intolerable pain the rest of its race felt when exposed to light. It's eyes were therefore able to adapt, if only barely, giving it some minor use of them.

“I hope you’re ready for this, Faust” The man spoke quietly, looking at the enchanted Karuku-tal. Its charmed fur gleamed brightly under the moonlight as its big milky blue eyes looked up at him expectantly; their glow seemed to surpass the moon itself in captivity.

“I mean, one of us has to be,” he chuckled, musingly, as the boat bobbed along its path while small waves hit its side.

The two moved in unison with the waters, shifting their weight as the boat rolled below them. The stowaway took a deep breath and his lungs were filled with the strong smell and taste of the sea.

'Nothing quite like it, is there?' He thought with a smile.

He couldn’t help but think back to a simpler time: when he was on his father’s fishing boat. He could almost see the small makeshift dingy on the water. He thought back to the countless hours he had spent on that boat with his father. He learned how to catch fish, how to hunt shifter bats. He learned how to handle a knife and a bow. He was taught how to ready the meat and cook a meal. All the good times he could remember, fell away in a blur. It was a time long gone, almost thirteen years now, a time and place he could not go back to. There were a lot of things he could not go back to.

The boat dipped low and water sprayed unexpectedly high. Faust cringed and jumped off the railing. His face was wet, and although the enchantment prevented him from feeling gratuitous pain from touch, he was after all still a cat: cats hate water. The man looked at his friend and laughed.

“Oh come on, don’t be a big baby: it’s just a little,” he was interrupted by a bigger wave which hit the side of the ship, drenching him from head to toe.

“Water… Okay, point taken.” He said, letting out a held breath, as he sat down against the side of the boat.

He looked at Faust who displayed an uncanny human expression.

“You know, sometimes that all knowing smug of yours really freaks me out” the man muttered under his breath as Faust walked slowly over to where he sat. Faust leaned against him as the boat made its many plunges on the sea. The two sat, resting, gathering the strength they would soon need.

The sky had slowly started to change hue. The cool dark midnight blue began to show shades of purple. The island approached, much closer now: little shapes on land could be made out. The largest city on the land, the capital city, The City of Scara Brae could be seen. In front of her were the docks. Not yet set a bustle with their usual lively and colorful characters. The few dedicated early birds were beginning to load their boats and shove off, hoping to get those few hours of prime fishing in before their competition woke up. The large barge that sailed to Corone floated at anchor, in all her runic dignity. Her long deck being scrubbed vigorously by the ensigns, newly assigned; while their superiors watched vigilantly, looking expectantly for someone to act out of place or step out of line. After all, at sea, the nail that sticks out gets hammered down.

[Captain on the Wind]

A vast number of docks spread like a spider web from a long pier. Even with a lack of a navy specific to the city itself, one could hardly find room at the harbor. With all sorts of different ships, from the miniature dingy to the much more imposing Galleons, the port never had an empty look to it. Merchant vessels used this wharf as a home for the days they spent at anchor while they sold their goods and resupplied. Their shops could be seen, where they could find space, all along the pier. There was no order to it; instead, a chaotic flow. But more than any other vessel, the kind most prevalent was the luxury ship. In high demand by the well off, these ships were loaded with every commodity a man could want. They were large and in constant need to re-supply. The ships themselves were decorated in the gaudiest of fashions, with gold and silver, gems and jewels. The brightest and flashiest of colors and designs adorn every inch of the liners, no matter how distasteful they were.

During the day, one could hardly make sense of the noise which came from the docks: from captains shouting orders to their crew, to the merchant trying every vivacious phrase they could muster to attract a customer. But now, at the twilight hour before the sun truly rose and the bleary night air dissipated, the docks were almost eerily quiet. Those who were out moved slow and lethargically, like ghosts on the wooden planks of the docks. The slow creaking echoed across the whole area, and as others made their sluggish approach, there was almost a kind of somber song that resonated out to sea.

No ports, save those exclusive to nobility, differed too much from each other. That unmistakable odious stench of sweat, fish, alcohol and vomit couldn’t be masked by the strongest perfume in Fallien. The Minnow’s Jest made its slow approach to port. The captain skillfully maneuvered the boat to the pier.

Once it was positioned just right, he lowered the anchor. A board was dropped from the boat to the pier, meant for disembarking. The weary passengers, waking from their sea sicken slumber, stirred slowly. The ones who managed to avoid the aches of the sea sickness were already gathering their effects and lining up to disembark.

The cloaked stowaway climbed up onto the railing and his nimble friend hopped up beside him. The man took another deep breath, as though he tried to breath in the whole port.
“Garbage, alcohol, and human excrement… Smells just like Outlander’s Post, doesn’t it?” The man looked at his companion with a smile. The bright eyed feline seemed to nodded and turned to look at the land they had long awaited.

“Hey! Whaddaya think y’er doin’?!” shouted the captain, making his slow, limping decent from the helm down to the deck. The two leapt from the railing onto the land. Faust nimbly landed and bounced around: ecstatic to be back on dry land. When the man landed, it was not quite so smooth, the damp wooden docks made for poor friction against his old sandals. Perhaps he was too used to the sinking, soft and burning sands: perhaps having been at sea for months made him lose his land legs. Either way, his feet gave out from under him and he landed on the flat of his back.

Not the best possible landing. At least no one saw he thought as he quickly got to his feet.

But by the time the captain’s limp pace brought him to the stowaways' disembarking point, the pair had vanished. Into the morning fog he and his friend dispersed: the captain looked around frivolously, wondering if his old age had been catching up to him. Despondent from the pointless search for the stowaways he turned to the rest of the passengers.

“Now don ye be getting any idea’ers now! I’ll have no more’v that nonsense on my ship! Y’er all to fall in! Have yer fee ready and shove off in an orderly fashion” Shouted the captain mechanically. He limped to the disembarking plank and stood stonily as he collected his fares.

Such was the life of an old sea dog, past his prime.

[Captain on the Wind]

The morning mist spread evenly on the old cobble stone path. The old stone road snaked gradually up from the docks, towards the city. Two cliffs hugged the docks on either side providing a natural barrier against the noise of the harbor, for the peaceful city. Both hills had patches of grass growing, but from years of trudging they had grown mostly tough and arid. There were numerous trees dispersed along the path, though, with no one to care for them they too had grown gray and hardly showed signs of life. On either sides of the road were small, simple houses. There were few and far between, but despite appearing abandoned and forsaken, most housed a family or two. Poor fishermen and merchants, who called Scara Brae home, had moved to these substandard, old, dwellings. Though they did not provide any luxury, a spot along the declining path, especially one so close to port, would provide them a much needed advantage against their competition.

Along this same road stood an old tavern, a monolith among the rickety houses. The old inn could trace its history back to the establishment of the city and owed it's prosperity (when times were good) to the port that bustled a short walk away.

The two stowaways passed by several houses as they made their slow ascension up the long winding path. The adrenalin from their haphazardly escape from the ferry had worn off and the trip was beginning to take its toll. They did not have a goal or destination, they simply wandered. They made their sluggish way to the city. Neither of them looked up: both exhausted from their long journey, they waited for the moment they could close their eyes without fear of being discovered.

A strong east wind blew, almost knocking the man off his feet: his land legs had not yet taken to the ground. He had a seafaring spirit from an early age and it had never changed. Faust agilely moved around to support his tripping friend. But the wind was strong and the stowaway had been surviving on stolen scraps and boiled sea water for months now: his body couldn’t take the strain.

He fell, hard, on Faust who tried to cushion the fall. Comprised almost entirely of cartilage, the blunt force damage from the impact wouldn’t hurt the nimble feline, but the thin cat could not fully support the drifter. Faust made an awkward groan as the air was pushed out of his body. Avoiding the full force of the initial impact, the man bounced slightly and his side crashed hard against the hard cobble stone.

He lay motionless, staring vacantly at the stars which could still be seen in the sky. The sun was just barely reaching the horizon and the drifter watched, helplessly as the stars disappeared one by one. The soft melody of the birds, just waking from their nocturnal slumber, was soothing to his weary ears. Faust somnolently moved over to his floored friend, laying down to rest, the cat put his head on the man’s chest. The two of them closed their eyes, their breathing synchronized as they sighed heavily. Moments later, in unison, their stomachs growled. The man lifted his head, mirroring the head jerk made by Faust.

“Damn, You could at least say excuse me” the man lectured, as his head fell back down to the ground, "Oww."

Faust only looked at him, exasperated. Then the stowaway's stomach let out growl which frightened the birds in a nearby tree. They flew off in different directions, abandoning their perches on the long, crooked branches, as his stomach bellowed. Faust looked at his friend expectantly.

“Alright, alright... Sorry,” the man apologized despairingly "why does this keep happening to us?" he pondered as his eyes shut and he faded out of consciousness.

[Captain on the Wind]

“Hey! Are you alright?” a voice coasted from the lone tavern on the side of the road. A thin, squirrely girl stood in the doorway. A server’s apron wrapped tightly around her gritty overalls. Her long chestnut hair was tied in a pony tail and moved with the wind. She looked concerned but hesitant, wary of the bizarrely dressed man and a strange creature she had never seen before.

The man twisted about, to get a look at their audience as Faust stuck his long neck out from around the man’s shoulder.

The girl chuckled at the scene, as the man and cat had the same blank, half curious expression. A warm waft of soup and cooked beef drifted out through the open door and once more, in unison, their stomach growled ferociously. The girl laughed candidly and gave a look of sincere commiseration to the strange pair before her.
“You wouldn’t happen to be hiding a bear somewhere in that cloak, would you?” she mused, giggling at their exchange of expressions. The man looked at the cat annoyed and the cat in turn growled impatiently and gestured to the woman.

Alright, I get it! Lay off! The man whispered to Faust.

“Sadly no, or I’d be rid of this great useless thing!” He stressed tilting his head towards Faust: the cat in turn summoned what little strength it could to slap the drifter over the head with an un-clawed paw. The woman continued to laugh, bending over slightly, appreciating the absurdity of this spectacle. The man cleared his throat, trying to stand but barely able to get up without shaking.

“What I meant to say was… that draft sure smells delightful,” He looked at her hopefully and smiled weakly “Any chance there’s a bowl to spare?”

The girl looked him up and down, then Faust, finally she looked back into the tavern nervously, “We’re really full right now… I’ll see if I can find a spot.”She turned to get back into the tavern when a raspy voice from inside called out to her.

[Captain on the Wind]

The tavern was an immodest size on its own, but seemed bigger when compared to the houses outside. Made completely of wood, roughly ten tables were spread and huddled across the room. Although modest, the pub had a warm and homey feel to it that was impossible to miss. There was not much décor to speak of, except a couple dozen candles spread on the tables and window sills. The windows were small, circular and did not let much light in. At the far end of the room, opposite the entrance, was a long bar with twelve old, worn, wooden stools.

Behind the bar there was a large quantity of a varied and colorful liquors. The cabinet was the best kept area of the quiet tavern; not a speck of dust could be found on any of the bottles. To the far left of the bar there was an open door from which the pleasant aroma of fresh warm broth brewing flooded the room.

The features of the plain looking tavern were obscured by a majestic chandelier which, riddled with candles hung gracefully, in middle of the room. The centerpiece of the room was the main source of light and helped the passing of time go un-noticed. Although out of place in the rustic establishment, the chandelier was not completely alone: accentuating the splendid ambiance was a grand piano, nestled away in the corner of the bar. The length of the large black instrument was near ten feet, but a layer of dust covered it from years of un-use.

The tavern was full of people: two groups of heavy set men, just finishing a long night of massive drinking. They sat next to each other, at the two closest corner tables on the left side of the room, closest to the door. They laughed and made crass jokes at the expense of anyone they saw.

To the immediate right of the entrance was a quite group of hunters. They drank their drafts with a cold respite: either preparing for a grueling day of tracking dangerous beasts in the woods, or celebrating a return from a successful day of work. The group gave no indication of which, but gave the impression they preferred not to be bothered.

Scattered throughout the establishment were various vagabonds of differing ages, some sat at the bar, either enjoying a hot meal or a cold drink: some had both. The bartender was simply dressed, sporting a white collared shirt and black linen pants. His hands blurred as he handled the various liquids masterfully. Rarely letting a drop spill and moving in succinct fluid motions: there was not a single movement was wasted.

“Gloria, is anything the matter out there?” a soft raspy voice resonated over the indistinctive background noise of the tavern.

Gloria turned and looked back into the tavern to the old man sitting in the back right hand corner of the tavern. He motioned her over with a brief hand gesture. “What’s the matter my dear?” The man asked gently as the young woman neared his table.

“There’s an odd pair outside; a man and a strange cat looking thing. The man collapsed outside of the tavern, I could actually hear their stomachs growling from the porch!” She whispered with concerned enthusiasm.

“Well then, don’t be rude child, let them join me here. There’s plenty of room at the table!” The old man laughed heartily betraying his old age, gesturing at the three empty seats,.

Gloria walked back and opened the door to let in the two strangers, but before she could look up to invite them in, they had already made it to a table inside.

She chuckled quietly, looking at the strange pair looking eagerly around the place, I hope this is okay; Mr. Lion doesn’t usually sit with anyone.

[Captain on the Wind]

The tavern was an immodest size on its own, but seemed bigger when compared to the houses outside. Made completely of wood, roughly ten tables were spread and huddled across the room. Although modest, the pub had a warm and homey feel to it that was impossible to miss. There was not much décor to speak of, except a couple dozen candles spread on the tables and window sills. The windows were small, circular and did not let much light in. At the far end of the room, opposite the entrance, was a long bar with twelve old, worn, wooden stools.

Behind the bar there was a large quantity of a varied and colorful liquors. The cabinet was the best kept area of the quiet tavern; not a speck of dust could be found on any of the bottles. To the far left of the bar there was an open door from which the pleasant aroma of fresh warm broth brewing flooded the room.

The features of the plain looking tavern were obscured by a majestic chandelier which, riddled with candles hung gracefully, in middle of the room. The centerpiece of the room was the main source of light and helped the passing of time go un-noticed. Although out of place in the rustic establishment, the chandelier was not completely alone: accentuating the splendid ambiance was a grand piano, nestled away in the corner of the bar. The length of the large black instrument was near ten feet, but a layer of dust covered it from years of un-use.

The tavern was full of people: two groups of heavy set men, just finishing a long night of massive drinking. They sat next to each other, at the two closest corner tables on the left side of the room, closest to the door. They laughed and made crass jokes at the expense of anyone they saw.

To the immediate right of the entrance was a quite group of hunters. They drank their drafts with a cold respite: either preparing for a grueling day of tracking dangerous beasts in the woods, or celebrating a return from a successful day of work. The group gave no indication of which, but gave the impression they preferred not to be bothered.

Scattered throughout the establishment were various vagabonds of differing ages, some sat at the bar, either enjoying a hot meal or a cold drink: some had both. The bartender was simply dressed, sporting a white collared shirt and black linen pants. His hands blurred as he handled the various liquids masterfully. Rarely letting a drop spill and moving in succinct fluid motions: there was not a single movement was wasted.

“Gloria, is anything the matter out there?” a soft raspy voice resonated over the indistinctive background noise of the tavern.

Gloria turned and looked back into the tavern to the old man sitting in the back right hand corner of the tavern. He motioned her over with a brief hand gesture. “What’s the matter my dear?” The man asked gently as the young woman neared his table.

“There’s an odd pair outside; a man and a strange cat looking thing. The man collapsed outside of the tavern, I could actually hear their stomachs growling from the porch!” She whispered with concerned enthusiasm.

“Well then, don’t be rude child, let them join me here. There’s plenty of room at the table!” The old man laughed heartily betraying his old age, gesturing at the three empty seats,.

Gloria walked back and opened the door to let in the two strangers, but before she could look up to invite them in, they had already made it to a table inside.

She chuckled quietly, looking at the strange pair looking eagerly around the place, I hope this is okay; Mr. Lion doesn’t usually sit with anyone.




“Hey Therk! What’s good on the menu today?” the old man yelled out to the apparent cook. Heavy footsteps could be heard encroaching from the doorway behind the bar. A large, bald man made his way out from the kitchen.

Standing roughly seven feet, he had to bend down as he passed through the doorway. His face was hard and riddled with many battle scars, though the bottom half was covered by a short black beard. He wore a large white apron, stained with what could only be assumed to be blood and grease, hiding his large belly; which was the only part of his body not bulging with muscle. Under the apron he wore a big beige cotton shirt and black cotton shorts revealing giant, muscular, hairy legs. Similar bustling hair poked out from the matching leathers bracers on his arms. The huge wooden spoon he came out with was dripping with a dark brown gruel, which splattered on the ground as he approached.

“That you Pall?” he bellowed, filling the whole room with his booming voice. The moment he spoke, or rather, roared, the indistinguishable noise made up by everyone else seemed to vanish. The two strangers cringed at the sudden burst of sound, the man lifting his hands to his ears and the cat hiding his head beneath its paws.

“Yeah, it’s me” Pall responded, chuckling lightly when he noticed his guests. “I have some new friends with me and they look hungry! What’s say you fix us up a real feast?!” he said to the gargantuan cook.

“Gya ha ha ha ha ha ha ha” he bawled as he made his slow retreat to his kitchen. “You know I can’t say no to you Pall! But you know my rule…” he turned slowly from the other side of the door way to poke his head out and give a harsh stare at the guests.

“If you don’t clear your plates, you’re mine” He whispered threateningly and the whole room grew morose. As if recalling some past incident, the entire room seemed to shudder.

“Is it just me or was that the most threatening thing you’ve ever seen?” the man whispered, eyes fixed on the now empty doorway, wondering if he had really just seen a giant with a big dripping wooden spoon come through it.

“Aww he wouldn’t hurt a fly!” Pall paused thoughtfully, then added “I mean… Unless it didn’t finish all its food: then he’d crush it to a smoldering pile of nothingness with his bare, gargantuan, hands.” The man turned to Pall immediately with a nervous look washing over his face.

“Kidding,” the old man whispered with a small smile, "his heart is as big as his smile," the stranger’s face instantly relaxing as he pushed back and leaned on the back legs of his chair.

“Yeah, well, I barely noticed with the glare from his head,” the man chuckled, and Pall threw him a concerned wide-eyed look of surprise and the whole room seemed to take a breath and hold it in.

[Captain on the Wind]

With no warning there came a booming set of quick, steps. Before the man could turn, he fell backwards and rolled out of his chair. He looked up to see Therk towering over him. Therk’s face was dark and livid: the face of an enraged beast ready to pulverize his quivering prey.

He bent a little lower, slowly and whispered “What was that… You just said?”

The man, still facing Therk started to crawl backwards away from him. Wide-eyed and fearing for his life, he looked over at Pall who motioned to Therk. The drifter turned back to the giant and whimpered as Therk knelt down, bringing his face inches away from that of the stranger’s. Faust, alerted by the action, made a motion to get in between his friend and the mammoth of a man, but upon a quick inspection of the electromagnetic waves, he got an idea of the enemy’s size and decided to move calmly next to Pall. Faust promptly began warming up to the elder man as if cozying up to a new master.

Damned spineless traitor! I swear if I survive I’ll throw him in the stew!! The stranger thought, shooting a look full of spite before looking back at Therk, who was breathing heavily, kneeling in front of him.

“I asked you... what you just said,” Therk said slowly, emphasizing every word. His eyes were narrowing, giving a wild, frenzied and irrational stare.

“O-oh… I-It was nothing…” stuttered the terrified stranger. “I was j-just saying that I… Umm, I liked... Your spoon?” He blurted out without thinking and hoping for the best.

“YOU WHAT?” The giant bellowed as he began to rise higher.

The stranger closed his eyes. I guess this is it. I hope they broil that damn cat!

A moment passed, and he was still in one piece. The drifter opened one eye and Therk was standing in front of him, a hearty, deafening laughter came from the giant, filling the emptiness.

“Made this beaut myself!” he boasted, holding his handmade wooden spoon up for everyone to see.

“You don’t say?” the stranger exhaled one of the longest breathes of his life and chuckled. It was the kind of relief that came with some tears, a great appreciation for life and the sheer will power it took not to soil oneself.

Pall laughed heartily with Therk and the whole room lit up almost instantly. Conversations started up again and everyone began telling and re-telling the story of what just happened.

“I like this one, Mr. Lion! I like you, kid! What’s your name?” he demanded, lifting the terrified man to his feet with one of his behemoth arms.

“It’s Silvers!” he blurted, while Therk 'playfully' patted him on the back, almost sending the man to the floor again.

“Gale Silvers,” he coughed, gathering what little composure his broken dignity could muster.

“Well met, Gale! I’ll go get that food! be back in a breeze,” the giant yelled as he made his thunderous retreat back to the kitchen.

[Captain on the Wind]

Gale stumbled, trembling, back to his overturned chair and put it upright. He strained to sit back down, holding on to the back of the chair, his shaking legs barely held him up.

“I apologize for my terrible manners, I’m afraid I’m not quite myself on an empty stomach. I’m Gale Silvers. Who do I have the distinct pleasure of addressing?” he asked with a weak one sided smile, bowing his head.

The old man smiled warmly and chuckled, “my name is Pall Lion, and there is no reason for such formalities!”

“Oh thank the gods,” Gale sighed relaxing his stiffened posture. “Cause I’m way too exhausted for it.” Gale’s body slumped into the chair more comfortably. His head rolled back and rested on the top of the chair. He glanced around from side to side, looking for Faust.

The slender feline was sitting next to the old man. His head on Pall’s lap, purring happily as the old man’s hands moved gently along the top of the tired cats head. Gale stared daggers at his friend but gave up moments later, too tired to keep up an angry demeanor.

“You shouldn’t indulge him like that, he’s already a spoiled brat,” Gale said softly, through closed eyes.

Faust looked up at Gale and growled, but he also gave up immediately. Partly due to his own exhaustion and partly because of the soothing touch of Pall’s hand.

Gale looked moved his head off the chair to respond, but before he could the quake like steps of Therk interrupted what slow train of thought he had.

“Breakfast is served, my honored guests!” He roared, almost directly into Gale’s ear. He placed four large plates of food in front of Gale and Pall, and one large plate of meat for Faust, with a bowl of milk on side. Gale twitched horribly, as the strong smell of foreign but delicious meat hit his face, straightening upright in his seat.

The plates were old and large: what elegant designs they once had, had long since faded. They were filled with a large assortment of odd, sizzling meat which Pall explained to be Giant spider meat: which would have normally made Gale think twice. But he had been surviving on scraps of stale bread and meat left behind on that forsaken boat and the old man's words floated right past the drifter: no recognition.

Next to the masterfully cooked spider meat was a collection of a half dozen different sea food: long thing slices of meat from sea snakes, great pieces of cooked crab meat, from the crabs of the deep, pieces of giant shrimp meat: cut up pieces of various small fish. Below the meats were an amalgamation of different wheat, corn and grain based foods; pasta, waffles, biscuits and stacks of corn on the cob. Pall went on explaining what the plates contained but all Gale could think of was the repulsive bread he forced down on that derelict boat and lost himself to desires.

The drifter almost literally dove into the big table of food. The expression on his face was not that of a civilized human being, but closer to a savage animal past the brink of starvation. His eyes moved at a rapid pace from plate to plate, grabbing at anything he could and tried to fit it in his mouth.

Pall shifted his chair back a couple of feet, surprised by the sudden assault on the helpless breakfast platter. Faust similarly decimated the food on his plate, once he was done he leapt up onto the table and went at the food set in front of Gale. The table quickly became a battleground for the two friends, each trying to out-eat the other. Pall look, at first shocked, then he tried to get a better look: amazed at the amount of food they devoured and the rate at which they did it.

Gloria approached nervously, carrying a large pitcher of water. He placed it on what little room could be found on the table and within moments it was gone. Gale slammed the jug down and sighed heavily. Then, as if baffled by some ridiculous event he looked at the panicky waitress.

"Rum?" he asked, giving her a pouty, puppy-dog look. The girl took a step back, moved sincerely by the sad expression on the drifters face. She scurried back to the bar and returned with a pitcher of the same size: filled with rum.

Gale took a great drink from the pitcher and yelled, "so good!"

“Hey, Therk?” Pall called out to the mountain sized chef. The cook came out of his kitchen, slowly wiping his hand clean of some meat he had just butchered.

“Yea~ MIGHTY LORD HROMAGH!” the giant bellowed the name of his revered deity. Therk watched, in awe of the two ravenous creatures making a massacre of the food he so lovingly prepared. But then, as he watched, he noticed the expression on the faces of Gale and Faust.

Therk's eyes began to water: Gale was weeping.

“It’s SO good” he mumbled in between bites while chewing, pausing to look back at the chef with a look of pure adoration and appreciation.

“Thank you” he managed to whisper through his chewing.

“You just wait lad!” howled Therk, spinning about, “More’s-A-Comin!” as he ran back to the kitchen shaking the floorboards with each step. Pall leaned back on the chair and let out a great hearty laugh. He moved back a couple more feet as Therk brought in plate after plate for the starving duo. The entire tavern began to turn to watch the newcomers have at the incoming portions. Most people shared Palls initial expression of horror, but just like the old man, they all quickly became amazed at the enthusiasm of the pair.

[Captain on the Wind]

The group of heavy-set men, the miscellaneous vagabonds and even the hunters all cheered the two as if they were watching street performers. The whole tavern roared with excitement and cheers. Instead of separate factions one crowd was now forming around the small table in the corner of the tavern.

Some of the larger men watched the young drifter guzzle the strong liquor from the jug and took it as a challenge. They quickly pulled up some tables and chairs, and called to Gloria to bring more rum. The rest of the gathering followed suit and joined in, a massive feast and drinking contest was underway. No one actually kept score, joining in the spirit of celebration the entire pub cheered and laughed with the drifter, sharing in good drink and good food.

Pall took the opportunity to escape the frenzy and made himself comfortable in a quieter corner of the room. He sat and observed the newcomer that entered the tavern, not ashamed to admit his own curiosity.

By the time the sun was mid-way in the sky there was not a single drop of rum left in the great tavern on the coble-stone road. Therk had emptied his kitchen's stores of food and the patrons emptied their pockets to pay for the gross amount of indulgence they had taken part in.

Gale finished seven pitchers of rum on his own, along with six portions of food prepared by the mountainous proprietor. Gloria and the great cook began clearing out the tavern, as it did not have the means to serve anyone else for the day. With each patron that stumbled out, compliments were yelled to Therk on the stupendous service and promises of a rematch to the drifter who sat in his chair, head tilted back, snoring loudly.

[Captain on the Wind]

After finishing what little scraps remained, Faust hopped across the room next to Pall, to a fresh bowl of milk and began to sip at it idly. Pall moved to his original chair back at his table as the last of the plates were being cleaned off the table.

Gloria had never worked as hard in all her life: bringing plates of food which overshadowed her petite frame to the table. She picked up the cleared plates, brought them back and rushed back to the table to re-fill the empty pitchers of all kinds of drink. She could finally breathe a sigh of relief when the food stopped coming. Cleaning the last of the plates, she smiled at the worn out and entirely satisfied strangers.

Gale snored and began to lean forward, but the snoozing drifter did not know to stop the momentum and his head crashed into the table. Pall was pulling a chair up to the table and was as surprised as the well fed, drunk man by the loud crash.

“T-thank you…” Gale whispered, lifting his head and rubbing his face, as Pall settled next to him.

The elder man laughed warmly “No no, my boy, it is a rare thing for an old man to be able to do some good now-a-day. I’m just happy I could help.” Pall smiled and sat tranquilly in his chair, crossing a leg over another and cupping one hand in the other.

“I don’t have much, but I’ll,” Gale began but was interrupted by Pall.

“No no: there will be no talk of debt at the table lad; it’s not good for the mood, or the heart.” Pall smiled kindly, his eyes fixed squarely on Gale as he did.

Gale sat up in his seat and stretched, he exhaled a deep, satiated breath and relaxed, resting his head on the table. Gale opened one eye and looked closely at his host for the first time and observed the kindly old man. His hair was neat, clean white, slicked back and stretched down past his shoulders where it hung evenly. The drifter knew it was not a simple task to keep such a clean cut appearance up. The generous man wore half moon spectacles which rested on the middle of his nose and had to bring them up now and again, as they slide down.

Gale stopped a while at Pall’s eyes, although, almost hidden by the glasses, they had an uncanny and unshakable stare. They were fierce, with a certain penetrating quality that the drifter had seen before, in the war. His face had a soft look to it, wrinkled and kind with a beard that grew down to his chest of the same hue as his hair. Pall would on occasion stroke his beard, deep in thought, his gaze set on Gale. His posture seemed curved and his body seemed frail at first glance. But on further inspection, Gale noticed the well formed muscles that were almost completely hidden by the baggy clothes the old man wore: not much escaped his eyes when his hunger was satisfied.

What’re you hiding I wonder Gale thought to himself, or, perhaps from whom?

Calling out to Therk, Pall stood up slowly. The last of the night’s weary patrons had already left, leaving the five of them alone. Gloria was putting on her cloak, getting ready to go home. The bartender was adorning his coat as well, having just cleaned his work place and collected his pay. Gloria gathered her pay from Therk, who thanked her heartily and loudly. She walked by Pall and warmly kissed the old man on the cheek as she said a passing “Good night.” She looked to say ‘farewell’ to Gale, but he was watching Pall make his way to Therk. She pet Faust, who rubbed against her hand warmly, purring, and she headed for the door.

“Gloria!” A voice called out to her, she spun around, elated, in anticipation.

“You forgot your tip,” the bartender said walking up behind her. Disappointed she took the money, putting it safely away in her coat pocket. She turned back around in a hurry to escape the embarrassment only she was aware of. In her hurry, her scarf fell off her shoulders and in her rush she did not notice.

[Captain on the Wind]

Making her way down the stairs, Gloria was once again stopped by the sound of her name. This time, she turned more reservedly, anticipating disappointment.

“You dropped your scarf,” Gale said, holding the flowing crimson garment. It was well made, the work of a master, with the initials G. M. embroidered at the end in a dark blue.

Gloria blushed, surprised to have her wish granted while Gale handed the scarf back, he gave it a final glance to ascertain its quality.

“That’s a very well made piece; may I ask who the master is that made it?” Gale inquired haphazardly.

The red glow of her face seemed to get brighter; matching the red scarf she tried to use to hide it.

“I made it… G. M. stands for Gloria Moonrose… That’s me.” She mumbled looked down, too self-conscious to meet Gale’s gaze.

Gale chuckled, “I’m thoroughly impressed, Ms. Moonrose, it would appear there is more to you that meet the eyes. And the eyes don’t go un-wanting.” Gale said with a sly smile.

At this Gloria could not even respond. She gave a quick, shocked, glance at the drifter who responded with a charming smile, Gloria bowed swiftly and politely, turned and ran as fast as her thin legs could take her.

[Captain on the Wind]

Pall and Therk had a brief conversation at the back of the tavern. Gale made his way back through the entrance, smiling at the thoughts he was not ashamed to have. The conversation they were having was too soft to hear, which amazed Gale considering the normal ear shattering blast Therk spoke in. After the quick exchange Therk shook Pall’s hand and made his usual loud retreat back to the kitchen. Pall walked slowly towards Gale who moved past where the feline lay curled. Faust stood up, moving towards Pall: he pet the Karuku-tal with a warm smile and words of caring praise.

"I have made arrangements with Therk," Pall started, his eyes fixed on the cat at his feet, "You will be working here, at the tavern to pay off what you consumed tonight."

"Wait, what? What happened to not discussing debt?!" Gale started, worried about the sheer quantity of what he had eaten and drank.

"I said not to discuss it at the table," Pall said, lifting his gaze to Gale, "it won't be a problem will it?"

"No! I just..." Gale began, his gaze wandering around the room, trying to think of any excuse he could. Finally his eyes were glued to the unsettling face of the great cook, peeking out of the kitchen doorway, "anything you need done, I'm your man," the drifters voice shook, while he tried to seem composed.

"First and foremost," began Pall, circling the drifter, "we need to get you looking like more of a civilized human being."

“What’s wrong with the way I look?” Gale asked, rubbing the short beard that had grown on the long voyage across the sea. He looked at his reflection in the window and almost did not recognize himself, actually that makes perfect sense he thought. He smelled his armpit and cringed, recoiling away from the odious stench.

“Therk will look after you, and give you the spare room he has in the back. The two of you will be very comfortable here. There is a washroom there too, so you can bathe. Get some rest, lad, you look like you need it.” He said with a smile, a bow, and a turn. Pall made his exit as Therk entered the room.

“Ya ready?” Therk said, to Gale’s utter surprise in a soft voice. “I’ve prepared the water; you can go wash up and clean up,” Therk motion to the door at the end of the room. Gale walked slowly, with Faust at his heels.

The months at sea, the horrid food, the sick and weary around him: the stress and weight of not only his expedition but his reasons for it seemed to awaken once more with each step. He entered the kitchen, and following Therk he walked past the many varied cooking accessories and devices he had never seen before; all kinds of different knives for different meats, stoves of a strange design and numerous sinks and preparing tables. Trailing Therk, the three walked through the kitchen to a door hidden by an assortment of cupboards and spice racks. The room was rarely used, Gale deduced, while Therk shifted an assortment of brooms and mops to open the door.

The next room was almost bare: there was a large skinned rug in the center of the room. A large bed stood in the far corner below a window that let in the white rays of moonlight. Therk walked in first, lighting a lantern, filling the room with a warm amber light. The grand man placed the lantern on an old oak desk immediately to the right of the entrance where the drifter and the cat entered. A layer of dust flew off the desk when Gale placed a hand on it to admire the craftsmanship. A few inches of dust stuck to his hand and left long black streaks on his arms and clothes as he tried to wipe it off.

“I take it you don’t do much writing,” Gale said, blackening his white Falian clothes as he desperately tried to get dust off his hands.

“Nah, that’s not my style. It belonged to me wife: she loved that sort of thing, making poems and music and the like. She really had a heart fer it…” the mountainous chief let out, an unusual, lamenting sigh. He looked fondly at the old desk, with an unusually weak smile.

“Agh!” Therk cried, wiping his eyes quickly, “Enough of such things, let’s get this dirty vagabond all cleaned up, shall we!?” His voice boomed as he walked prominently to the door, opposite the entrance.

Gale’s exhaustion made itself even more evident on this short walk. He had only walked ten paces but his vision was blurring: he teetered on the edge of consciousness. He had not even realized it when he walked into a small wooden room with a white marble bath filled to the brim with hot water. Therk left Gale with some towels and a shaving kit.

Gale spread the soft white foam on his face and unfolded the shaving razor. He took his time, didn’t want to cut himself from carelessness. Within a few minutes Gale was washing the remainders of the foam off his face. He climbed into the hot water of the bath and all at once his stress washed away. Faust came down next to the bath, purring softly on a warm rug. Gale slid down; his entire body seemed to relax, going somewhat numb. The water seemed to warm his very soul and the weary drifter let out a deep, long and satisfying sigh. His eyes shut and he drifted away to more pleasant days on green grass, under a soft sun.

After what felt like hours, Gale was alerted to an intruder by Faust’s deep growling hiss.

Gale looked around and sighed exasperatingly, upset to be woken from his peaceful respite, “I didn’t think you’d actually follow me all this way Roland.”

[Captain on the Wind]

Faust hissed at the specter which made its way towards the two, but Roland seemed darker to Gale than usual. Unlike a regular Devadi; a soul who could not move on after death, Roland’s skin was not usually burnt to a crisp, though that seemed to vary on a monthly basis. He retained his physical appearance from when he lived. Roland’s face was riddled with the many agonizing trials life brought him; the many crevices and scars came together to form a makeshift collage.

His eyes were almost always squinted and his voice raspy. He wore a constant scowl, one not developed from years, or even decades of death: one he undoubtedly developed in life. The old-style cowboy hat he wore on his head draped a shadow over his face, only accenting his features. Gale, like other Akhetamika warriors, whose blood he shared, was the only one who could see such souls. However, Faust was able to sense the electromagnetic disturbances caused by Roland, so in another way, he was aware of Roland and always disturbed by him.

This place is nice said Roland a substantial improvement over that shitty old piece of driftwood that passed for a boat WHERE YOU LEFT ME![i/] his words turning into a scream.

“Hey, I had no idea you followed me, why didn’t you say anything?” said Gale calmly looking Roland over.

[i]Like hell you didn’t! You told me to go die, again, and locked me in a cubbyhole! Roland yelled pointing back to the docks where the Minnow’s Jest still sat docked.

I’m lucky that bag-o-bones captain came by to do a check of the ship! Roland bellowed at Gale who was already turning away from him, continuing to wash.

Dammit you’re doing it again you little piece-a shit! roared the spirit, you know I can’t stand being ignored!

Say something, curse you! Roland cursed walking towards Gale who abruptly turned and jumped out of the bath stopping directly in front of Roland. Taken by surprise Roland staggered back a step.

“I just want to make one thing clear,” Gale spoke quickly and feverishly, “if you ever say anything like that about my father again, I’ll kill you. I don’t care if you’re already dead: if I have to drop you through the gates to the underworld themselves! So help me, I will drag you there kicking and screaming and happily leave you in the deepest, darkest corner of hell, " Gale said with unwavering eyes that looked ferociously at the shaken soul as he stood naked in the room.

“Huh, didn’t know you guys could get scared like that,” Gale said looking Roland up and down “that’s interesting… Do we have an understanding?” the drifter asked the specter.

Hah ha ha ha ha ha ha Roland cackled raptly You have guts kid! I mean standing up to me, naked? Ain’t NO ONE’S done that before!

Gale groaned; Roland was back to his usual obnoxious self.

The freshly clean drifter wrapped himself in the towels left to him by Therk. He went back to the bedroom and looked around for the golly battle-scarred giant, but he was nowhere to be found, or heard. Instead of going out to look for him, Gale made his tired way to the large cot in the corner of the small bedroom. The trip to the foot of the bed seemed instantaneous; sitting down, its softness surprised him. Faust jumped up and curled up at the foot of the bed.

Well I was outside for a while. I heard about the job: congratulations useless, looks you like your ravenous appetite finally got you some work! Roland mocked.

“Normally, I’d tell you to lock yourself in a closet or something, but we played that little game already. I just want to get some sleep Roland, just give me that.” Gale said, his exhaustion finally setting in. The bath had loosened him up; he didn’t have the strength to do anything else. He could feel his head grow heavy: heavier than the rest of his body.

I don’t trust the Lion character. Watch yourself around him, Roland warned, ignoring Gale’s previous comment.

“I just care about this bed right now,” Gale said briefly. His upper body began to shift in a circular motion. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he mumbled as his head hit the pillow. He was asleep instantly, even before his head touched the pillow. The most satisfying kind of sleep: a stomach full of delicious food and a head full of profit and dreams of freedom. Gale slept better than he had in months, perhaps in years. Arms spread and legs open, he lay snoring sprawled out on the bed. Roland walked over to him softly and lifted the covers over him.

You did good kid. Getting here was no small feat. They’d all be proud Roland whispered cryptically as he settled into the wooden chair.

[Captain on the Wind]

He watched over the snoring Gale, like he did each night, when he was not locked in cubbyholes. When the time was right, and Gale was entering a deeper REM sleep, he moved quietly over to the bed. Faust stirred, looking over to Roland.

And what’re you looking at? he hissed at the cat, which turned back around and fell asleep. Lowering the covers he revealed Gales chest, where a black spot had begun to form.

Ugh, he locks me in a fucking cubbyhole, and I help him anyway. I should get a fucking medal, Roland whispered. He began to chant something in an indistinguishable language as a dark red light swirled out of Gale’s chest. Finishing the chant, the light shot out from the black spot into Roland’s mouth.

The light filled the room in its dim glow. The crimson red accented Roland’s features making him look very much like a vampire: and in a sense, he could be considered one. He was the only one of his kind, as far as he knew. An abomination, empowered by a powerful Akhetamika shaman, he could feed on the corruption that could overcome someone of Akhetamika decent and it sustained him. As far as the spirit could tell, the red light actually restored him.

The night grew quiet and the room grew dark once again. Roland’s skin grew lighter, and lost the black, ash-like, properties it had when he first entered the washroom. His facial features smoothed slightly, but his expression did not change. His eyes still squinted slightly and his everlasting scowl remained: his trademarked look. He sat back down in the chair. Gale scratched at his chest in his sleep, and turned to face Roland.

He smiled; I hope you’re dreaming about me saving your ungrateful ass Roland whispered in a raspy voice.

The lights of the rising sun could scarcely be seen from where the window was situated, but the sky was turning a lighter color, from orange to green to blue, the sky was waking up, as Gale drifted deeper into sleep. With only dreams of what lay ahead to guide him, Gale slept, not knowing what the future held in store: but hoping he would find what he wanted, or at least figure out what that was.

[Captain on the Wind]

To Gale, time seemed to pass in an instant: but to the rest of the world eighteen hours went by. Stirring from his deep sleep, Gale woke up satisfied. His hands worked quick, brushing crust away from around his eyes and yawning loud. Faust, who had been up for hours, ran back into the room.

“Where’re ya going?!” yelled a booming voice as Therk thundered his way into the back room. The sound shook any remaining chains of sleep from the roused drifter.

Noticing Gale was getting up, he laughed loudly, “Finally done sleeping?”

“Not quite,” the drifter replied, “but there'll be time for that later,” he smiled slyly as Therk earsplitting voice let out a hearty laugh.

“Good answer! I always say ‘You can trust a man who loves his sleep!’” Therk laughed walking over to the chair Roland had occupied all night.

Gale looked over at the soul, “You look better this morning.” He said, forgetting the presence of Therk.

Therk looked at him, confused at first, then burst out proudly “It’s a new salve I’m trying! Yer the only’on to notice! I knew I liked you for a reason!” Therk bellowed. Gale looked confused at first, and then took hold of the situation.

“Oh you know, I’m just that kinda guy,” Gale said, giving Roland a quick, nervous glance.

Looking for his pants, Gale twisted and turned, rolling off to the edge of the bed. Therk turned to speak after picking up the dark pants he left on the desk early that morning, but wished he had not. Gale’s back and upper body were riddled with scars that ranged in size and origin, clearly the work of a brutal torture: the kind reserved for cruel interrogation or relentless sadism, the kind Therk had seen his fair share of in his own wars.

Therk stared, but tried to look away: his gaze broke as the young drifter turned back to face the awkward giant, hoping he had not noticed.

He had.

Gale smiled at Therk’s awkward and unnecessary discretion while the giant threw pants to the drifter. Grabbing the dark brown leather pants, Gale slid his feet through both pant legs at once, he walked over to where Therk stood, pretending to be enthralled by something outside of the window.

“Anything interesting out there?” Gale teased, moving around the large cook.

“Oh! just birds, I have a house fer ‘em out back. But ‘nuff about the birds, here!” Therk pushed the rest of the clothes and a box into Gale’s hands before moving closer to the door of the kitchen.

Gale opened the box and took out a pair of light brown boots. Both were well made, hand crafted. They had designs on them from the opening on top to the heel and wrapping around the sides. He noticed the initials G.M., embroidered on the side, and could not help but smile.

Gotta say, that girl does not fail to impress, when did she even have the time!? he thought admiring the masterful work. He scrambled to put on the boots, but almost felt bad putting them on and stepping on the ground. His sandals and shirt were left in a pile near the bathroom door and the drifter could not help but cast a final glance at them. He took his first steps in his new boots, the feel of new leather felt good, even against his bare feet.

"I put some socks and a new shirt on the table," the giant began, turning to leave, "Ya want, I could wash those fer ya," motioning to the drifter's cloak and previous attire.

"No, thanks," Gale said, himself turning from the rags. The drifter looked at the cloak which had served him well for so long. His thoughts went back to the last time he was asked that question, to the old lady who took him in before. His eyes reflected the pain that memory brought him. He remembered the promise he made to himself, not to make the same mistakes again.

"It's ok," he began, turning away from the clothes, the ones he had left Fallian in, for the last time, "I'm pretty sure I outgrew them a while ago."

"Let's get ya started then," Therk laughed, nodding, missing the depth of what those words meant, as he walked through the doorway. The drifter pulled the white linen shirt over his head and followed after. He had just gotten his eyes out from under the cotton when a large plate flew by head. He recoiled to the left and almost crashed right into Gloria who was walking to the second stove, the one the drifter had just passed. Gale spun around her, just barely dodging her, he kissed her on the cheek. The petite waitress' face turned beet red and she dropped the plate she was carrying. The nimble drifter motioned to his new boots and placed his hands together, bowing low as he continued to walk backwards out towards the dining hall, hitting his head on the door as he went.

[Captain on the Wind]

The first day of a new job is always the hardest.

Truer words have never been spoken. Gale spent the first four hours of his day getting in everyone's way. He frantically ran to any table he could to clean the dirty plates, cups and utensils. Gloria flew by the drifter in a blur, she went to and from the kitchen, bringing in dirty dishes and bringing out plates of food and full pitchers of beer. She never spilt a drop of booze or a piece of food, Gale noted.

He kicked the doors to the kitchen open, barely able to steady the three plates in his hands. Gale stared intently at the meals he carried, he stared as though the harder he looked the less they would wobble. The drifter made his way through the groups of people standing and cluttering the floor. Passed the chairs and the arms swinging wildly in the air by some drunk patron arguing with a friend. He brought the plates at last to a table and set them down.

"Your food," he started, putting a plate on the table. But before he could put the second down the man sitting next to him laughed.

"Didn't order anything," he pointed over to a table with a group of three men who starred with contempt at the new server, "I think that's their food."

"Crap," Gale sighed, as he bent to pick up the large plate again, trying not to drop anything in the other two, "Thanks," he said to the man who pointed him in the right direction.

The drifter made for the small group reluctantly, hoping his mistake would be overlooked. He placed the plates on the table one by one, unsurely. The glares from the men sitting at the table unnerved the young man. Their eyes seemed to hide some hideous dark secret that Gale was not eager to find out.

"Your... food," the young man said after putting the plates on the table. The stares from the three men did not ease up. Gale looked at the table, then at the men looking at him, then back to the table. The shifted the plates around, and then looked back to the deadly gaze of the men before him. Instead of finding relief, he found their eyes growing wider in growing anger. The little hairs at the base of the drifters neck stood and he dropped his gaze once more to the table, once more shifting the plates.

He paused before looking back up to the customers. Gale took in a long breath and held it in as he lifted his gaze. The three men now bared their teeth at the server through frowning lips and enraged faces. Gale let out his held breath as though it was knocked out of him. When a form brushed his arm and blew past him the terrified drifter jumped to the side and let out a yelp.

"Oh stop it," Gloria's squeaky voice scold as she brought two trays of beer to the table, "leave him alone, it's his first day."

"But Glory," the fiercest man whined, sitting down, "we were expecting you to serve us and then this blundering idiot brought our food to that table and then he mixed up our orders!"

"You all ordered the same thing!" Gloria snapped, turning away and taking Gale with her. She brought him back to the kitchen and when the door closed behind them she turned to the drifter.

"You can't let them push you around! You have to stand up for yourself!" She lectured, almost out of character.

"Yeah but," Gale began, motioning back to the room, "but, they were scary..." his eyes dropped to the floor.

"You need to grow a pair if you're going to keep working here!" the mousy girl yelled, as she put two more giant plates in the drifter's hands and took four equally large helpings herself. She barged out through the door without a look back.

"... Such a professional..." Gale whispered, unsure that she was the same shy girl from the night before. He followed Gloria's example and returned to work.

The day only got more hectic and busier for the little tavern. Gale and Gloria ran back and forth all day from table to kitchen to table. The candles burned bright all day and danced as the bar got louder and livelier. The crowds that came in welcomed the presence of the drifter to the atmosphere as though he had always been there.

[Captain on the Wind]

At the end of the day, as the night time travelers came in, the bar got quieter and calmer. After hours running around Gale and Gloria stood at the bar. The bartender stood solemnly behind the bar, pouring hard drinks for the last men who wandered to his table. Gale looked at Gloria and smiled, the girl who had just been so strong and commanding turned away and blushed.

Laughing, Gale turned to the bartender and stop as something occurred to him.

"Hi," he began, stretching his hand out, "I'm Gale, pleasure to meet you."

The bartender shocked, shook the drifter's hand, "James," he began uneasily, "James Morrow... No one usually talks to me, or bothers to learn my name."

"What, seriously?" Gale asked, unsure if the man was kidding.

"Well... Yes, usually they just ask for a drink and complain." James said, pouring another drink and setting in front of a large man who sat at the bar.

"That's... terrible," Gale said, morosely squinting at the usually stoic man. He could see people walking all over the unassuming bartender.

"Well, we can't have that, " Gale said, jumping over the counter to where the bartender stood. He pushed James out of his usual spot at the bar and sat him in a chair. The drifter hopped back over behind the bar and easily poured a glass of whiskey, which he set in front of James.

"Have you bartended before?" James asked after having a drink.

"I've done a lot of drinking in my time," Gale smiled and poured a glass of rum for himself, "cheers." The two clanked glasses and enjoyed their drinks. Gloria moved back to the kitchen but was stopped by Therk. The large proprietor watched the two men talking, he watched Gale work easily with the liquor and watched the rest of the patrons join in the conversation.

"It's a rare gift," Therk said, putting a hand on Gloria's shoulder and watching the scene, "He draws people to him. It's a spark, a light that everyone looks for. It warms a part of us that we can't see. We may have taken him in from the streets, possibly saved his life. But I think we ended up being the lucky ones."

"Yeah," Gloria said, mesmerized by the laughing drifter.

[Captain on the Wind]

The weeks went by quickly and Gale once again felt like he had become a part of a family. The night was brisk and a full moon hung above in a clear sky, surrounded by stars.

"Is something the matter?" a soft voice came from inside the tavern.

The star gazing drifter was stirred from his thoughts by the slowly approaching form of an old man. The heavy steps of the old man on the wooden porch filled the quiet night air, as the door to the tavern closed shut.

"Oh," Gale said, unfolding his arms to turn and face his kind benefactor, "hey Pall."

"You seem troubled, son," the kindly old man said, putting a firm hand on the drifter's shoulder.

"No," Gale began, "I just... I'm not used to living like this."

"Like what?" Pall asked, taking a few steps to stand at the foot of the porch and look at the stars with Gale.

"Oh you know, this and that," Gale said, trying to avoid the topic.

"I see," Pall replied, respecting the drifter's right to privacy, "In that case would you object if I made a proposition?"

"...No, no, I think you have me all wrong," Gale said, looking back to the stars, "I don't swing that way."

"Not that kind of proposition," Pall retorted, not taking his eyes from the bright night sky, "A business proposition."

"Seriously?!" Gale asked, looking down from the sky, with a grin, at the old man.

"Indeed," Pall smiled, looking at the drifter, "if you're willing to help an old man out, that is."

"Sure!" Gale laughed turning to his new boss, "just tell me what's to be done."

"Well," Pall began, stepping down from the porch and started down the cobblestone road, "I have a contract with the Knights of Scara Brae and a third party. I arrange for shipments to be brought into port and then be delivered to the Knights' headquarters."

Gale followed close to the old man, his eyes fixed to the sky not giving the impression that he was listening.

"Normally I don't need to be there, the Knights send an envoy to pick up the cargo and escort it back. But lately the merchandise have been going missing. As far as I can tell they made it off the boat, but it seems as though someone is interfering before they get it back to their base. I would go myself, but," Pall paused to look at Gale, "hey, are you even listening?"

"Yeah, yeah," Gale said, waving his wrist back and forth, "something about a boat, it's very interesting."

"Yes," Pall coughed, as he continued, "well, I would go myself, but old as I am... I think this is the kind of work for the young and able."

"I'm a Jack-of-all-Trades! I'll do anything that needs being done!" Gale chuckled as looked at the old man.

Pall smiled at the drifter and turned to walk back to the tavern. The night was warm, while a cool breeze blew from the sea. The bright moonlight illuminated the hills and the road, while the sound of the waves not far off set a calm nocturnal melody. The old man looked around and took in the night in all its splendor. But something did not sit right with the old man. He could feel something in the works, forces of chance or destiny, though he could not put his finger on what exactly made him feel that way.

"Calm before the storm?" the elder man mumbled to himself.

"You say something?" Gale asked, following Pall back towards the tavern.

"Just a passing thought of an old man," Pall laughed, "pay no mind to it. The ship comes in a few days from now, I will come by the tavern to give you the final details of the job then."

"We have an accord," Gale smiled, thinking about his first real job as a freelancer.

[Captain on the Wind]

The tavern grew quiet, as the usual crowd of patrons made their way home. The night had grown chilly and the moon was high in the sky. Gale found a table for himself when he returned from his talk with Pall to finish his dinner. Gloria was getting ready to ho home too, collecting her pay from Therk. With his third bottle down to half, Gale poured another glass.

“Well, I’ll be heading home now Mr. Silvers.” Gloria said shuffling timidly standing at Gale’s side.

“What? No no, that just won’t do!” Gale exclaimed standing and pulling out the seat next to his. “Come, come milady, join me in celebration,” he said, shuffling the embarrassed girl into the seat. Gloria dropped into her seat unable to refuse and laid her coat on the back of her chair. Gale got a second glass from the bar, and made his return to the table before she could say anything.

“You’re okay with rum right?” he asked, pouring her a drink.

“I-I, yes, I mean, I don’t drink much,” she stuttered looking down at her feet.

“Well we can change that quickly,” Gale smiled, sliding the glass to her. He grasped his own and raised it in toast. Gloria grabbed for her glass and raised a shaking hand, mimicking Gale's movement.

“To our jobs, may they help us find fulfillment with our lives,” Gale spoke, hitting his glass against Gloria’s, “bottoms up!” He exclaimed. Finishing his drink in one fell swoop, Gale looked to Gloria expectantly. The shy waitress looked, hesitantly, at her glass and then to the drifter. She did just as Gale, but immediately regretted the decision. She started coughing ferociously, her throat aflame by the potent liquor making its swift way to her stomach.

Gale laughed heartily, as he poured another two drinks. The final bottle of rum had enough for two more full glasses. Pleased with the symmetry of his split, Gale set the second glass in front of Gloria, while fondling his own.

“Tell me, if it’s not too personal,” Gale began, not looking up from his glass, “why work here?”

Gloria, a bit taken aback by the forwardness of the question, looked at Gale. She looked down to her own glass, considering the question. After a short silence, Gale looked at his drinking partner.

“I’m sorry, I asked on a whim, it’s too bold,” Gale began.

“No, I just never thought about it myself,” Gloria interrupted, quite out of her character when she was not working. Looking up from her glass, “I mean, it isn’t a particularly difficult job. I have known Therk since I was a little girl. Back then he ran this place with his wife,” she began, “I guess I just admired her so much, I wanted to help in any way I could.”

“Yeah, I saw her desk in the back, what was she like?” Gale asked, unconscientiously.

“Her name was Evelyn, and she was amazing: she could write music and play the piano. And she was beautiful, she had golden hair, she looked like a princess, or an angel!” Gloria continued, stopping abruptly seeing Therk come up behind Gale.

“What?” Gale said, turning around, “Whoa!” He jumped up from his chair seeing the normally golly giant, who wore a somber expression on his face.

[Captain on the Wind]

“Therk, I’m sorry,” Gloria frantically apologized, recognizing the tavern owners pain, “It’s not my place, I should go,” she started, getting up.

“No!” Therk’s voice boomed as he brought a chair up to the table. Therk put another bottle of rum on the table. He began to fill his own glass but the drifter caught his arm, "You never switch hands." Gale said softly, taking the bottle and filling the small giants glass.

He looked up at Gloria, who was taking her seat next to Gale once more. “Please,” Therk whispered softly, “hearin’ people talk like that about her,” he paused, “it helps. And so does this,” he exclaimed, raising a glass to Gale, who clanged his glass with Therk’s. Gloria nervously followed the two, as they drank their glasses. The drifter promptly re-filled their glasses as Gloria went into another coughing fit, this one ending much sooner than the last. Gloria looked nervously at Gale, who could do nothing by motion for her to continue.

“She was always so nice,” Gloria continued, her gaze falling to the candle which flickered helplessly at the center of the table, “I think I came here, just to see her smile back then. She had a warmth to her; I lived with my sister and brother at the time and I never knew my mother, but I always imagined that she was just like Evelyn. She cared for anyone and everyone who came in to the tavern, like they were a part of her family,” Gloria paused, seeing Therk smile weakly, nodding his head, she put a delicate hand on his. Gale smiled, admiring the depth of the warmth Gloria probably did not see in herself.

“She was a protector,” Gloria went on, “She always looked out for people who need help. She welcomed anyone who came looking for help. She wouldn’t care if you had enough money to pay; your word was all she wanted. There were a lot of people who tried to take advantage of her,” Therk scowled, thinking back to a time long past, “but even when Therk offered to take care of it, she would just say ‘it’s just money, I’m just happy I could make today a little easier for them.’ She had a kindness in her eyes and a burning fire in her heart. But she was certainly no push-over; she used a broom like a spear!” Gloria exclaimed, motioning with her hands as if she held a weapon. Therk and Gale watched her, and laughed in unison when she dropped her eyes to the floor once more: her face red with embarrassment.

“She really did love th’s place, couldn't cook worth a damn tho,” Therk chuckled softly, “Tha chandelier,” he pointed up to the majestic overbearing chandelier hanging above the three, “She got it fer us, said ‘it’d make that place look like a right proper establishment.’ She were always like that, wantin’ to make life a little brighter.”

“I really looked up to her,” Gloria added quietly. “She was everything I wanted to be. But I could never be as great as her, or beautiful. Grace came to her so easily; anything she did looked like art in motion.” Gloria recalled excitedly, getting lost, like Therk, in a memory.

Gale watched the two sit quietly, recalling fond memories. Gale smiled, comforted by the warm expressions on their faces. It’s like it’s contagious He thought to himself, regaling happier, simpler times in his life. It made him think back to his own mother. Those thoughts, however, were bitter; his own mother abandoned him before his eleventh birthday. He never got a reason, or a goodbye. Gale thought back to the time he did spend with her, but those memories were tainted. Gale emptied his glass of rum in a quick fluid motion. Therk followed suit and Gloria, trying to keep up, hastily finished her own drink. Gale refilled their glasses, finishing the bottle.

“Ah tell ye,” Therk mumbled, “we always thought of ya like our own.” He said, slapping the table and looking at Gloria. But her gaze was locked on Gale, who in turn eyed his now full glass, lost in thought.

“Well kids,” Therk boomed, “this is the last one!” Therk raised his glass.

“What’s it too?” Gale asked absently.

The three sat in silence for a moment, broken by Gloria.

“To life,” Gloria began, pausing, unsure where she was going with the thought.

“It’s delicate, fragile, and often cruel,” Gale continued grimly.

“But it’s not tragedy tha defines life; it’s wha ya do after. Nuffin will tell ya mor’ev who a man is than what 'e does when his world falls apart. But those unhappy times tell ya wha’s important, and wha’s not. Tha only thin ya can do’s live. An live twice as hard for them tha’re gone,” Therk stumbled through the toast, waving his glass to and fro in the air. The drifter watched the philosopher giant and smiled.

“To life, in its entire splendor. And long will we live, as long as there’s logic and love on our side.” Gale concluded solemnly.

The three glasses rang clear in the air as the three clashed. They finished their drinks quickly and quietly, not wanting to ruin the purity of the toast. Gale noticed that Therk had been wrong about the rum, there was enough for another glass. He grabbed hold of the bottle and poured most of it on the ground, biting his tongue at the blasphemy he was perpetrating.

The three sat in silence, while the liquid poured to the ground, letting the words they had spoken sink in. Therk was the first to stand, without a word he walked to the hanger and took his cloak. He left the tavern, going on one of his midnight strolls. Gloria and Gale sat together in silence.

[Captain on the Wind]

“There really is something to that,” Gloria started, looking up at Gale.

“Makes you think, doesn’t it? Life really is short; it’d be a shame to waste it.” Gale said softly, returning Gloria’s stare.

With her long hair down, she really was beautiful. Gale looked deep into her hazel eyes, losing himself in her stare. Gloria looked away, her hair falling in front of her face, hiding her embarrassment. Before she could look back up, Gale’s hand was brushing the hair out of the way. She sat, surprised, looking anxiously at Gale. His hand hovered near her head, as the drifter leaned a little closer.

“We have had a lot to drink,” Gloria began, trying to rationalize the situation.

“Not that much,” Gale retorted quickly, “you’re welcome to stay and sober up, if you don’t want to walk home like this,” He said softly, leaning closer still.

Gloria held her breath, seemingly drawn together by forces unknown, their lips met. The two shared a deep, passionate kiss. Gloria exhaled audibly, taking in a deep breath right after.

“We could always relocate," the drifter started, "it just so happens, I know of a cozy little cot in the back room.” Gale whispered, standing, offering a hand to Gloria.

Her head spinning, Gloria took Gale’s hand. He led her through the kitchen and through the door in the back. The drifter did not shut the door all the way and turned to see Gloria walk slowly to the bed. Following her swiftly, Gale turned her around and kissed her again. This time the kiss lasted longer, only ending when they both fell, landing on Faust. Faust hissed and ran out of the room into the kitchen. Gale and Gloria chuckled, as they lay on the bed. Gale brushed his hair back with a sigh, looking into Gloria’s eyes once more. She looked anxiously at Gale and slightly bit her lower lip.

“Shall we,” Gale started, shifting his weight a bit, “get more comfortable?”

With a nod, the two shed their superfluous clothes and joined together, but not before the drifter fastened something, similar to the sheep skin covering he had used in a far away land, on his member. They got below the covers together and there they remained, entwined, for as long as they could be,. But not everything lasts forever.




__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ __________





Gale was putting his boots on when he looked back at Gloria as rays of light crept through the small window to illuminate the girl's tranquil face. The drifter stood quietly from the bed, adorning his shirt and belt he tip-toed out to the kitchen. Faust stirred, raising his head to look at Gale. If ever a cat had shown a look of disgust it was exemplified perfectly by Faust.

“Oh shut up,” Gale whispered, moving past Faust, who moved into the bedroom and curled up snugly next to Gloria.

[Captain on the Wind]

Three days came and went and Gale thought of nothing but his job with Pall. Even while he served people food, which he was getting very proficient at. He and Gloria worked very well as a team, especially after their night of bonding and time flew for the small group.

Before Gale knew it he was being yelled at by Therk.

"Pall's wait'n fer yah!" the behemoth bellowed, informing Gale that the time had finally come for him to begin his first job as a Jack-of-all-trades.

Running backwards, Gale dodged the asymmetrically placed tables as he tripped his way out of the tavern. The drifter skipped and jumped down the short flight of stair to the cobble-stone path which led both to the docks and the city of Scara Brae. Pall was standing in front of the tavern to meet with Gale. The stumbling man did not see his client until it was too late and was barely able to avoid crashing into the old man. Pall stood confidently in his place while the man staggered past, crashing face first into a patch of dirt on the side of the road. The drifter stood up, brushing the dirt and the dust off, turning to Pall.

Coughing, “how ya doin? nice night for a stroll?” the wanderer mumbled.

He spat out a black wad of dirt, at which Pall let out a hearty sympathetic chuckle. The old man turned to walk, shaking off the hilarity of the situation and Gale followed close behind. The two men walked side-by-side in silence for a time. The salty air filled their lungs and the setting sun illuminated their path. The sky was growing a fiery orange but a number of large white clouds still drifted in the sky. The sea was calm, and the two stopped at the top of a hill, overlooking the docks.

“Is that it?” Gale asked, motioning at a small boat coming into port, with a blank stare. It was one of many which was approaching and departing the docks, almost like ants.

“As a matter of fact it is,” Pall said curiously “How ever did you guess?”

The drifter stood quietly, not averting his blank stare from the incoming ship.

“You guessed,” the old man said at last.

“Yup.” Gale said with a smile, turning to Pall.

The two men walked down to the pier, ignoring everyone on their path, but being noticed by everyone they walked past. Each merchant who had been yelling offers and every crewman that had been carrying a load stopped to take notice. The two walked with the dignified pace of nobles. But after one look, the inexperienced eye only saw as far as the clothes and turned back to their duties. The two men held a slow pace as the older one talked.

“The boat is anchored at the end of the dock. Now, come sun set tomorrow there will be few people around, and a group of knights will approach you. After some introduction they will ask to see the cargo, to inspect it. This is procedure, so let them aboard to inspect, but make sure they bring with them the payment…” the old man instructed until a long pause held his words.

“Again, these are knights of Scara Brae, so everything should go smoothly. They have their rules and regulations… But in case they… Act out of character, do not hesitate to run. The cargo is dispensable. It is more important you avoid capture or injury more than anything else.” Pall said gravely, as he looked worriedly at Gale. Gale missed the stare, focused on the ship, plotting possible escape routes. His eyes moved quickly and efficiently, scanning the entirety of the docks, looking for the best route. Gale did not speak, as Pall looked on anxiously.

After some time the wanderer stirred, his body shivered in anticipation..

“Well?” he asked Gale curiously.

“I got nothing.” Gale said with an empty look, his eyes half closing, “I’m tired as all hell though. There’s no way to get past the knights if they come up the docks by foot,” he said sighing heavily, scratching his head " and I'm not too keen on swimming in the freezing waters... it's totally hopeless."

Turning from the docks, the drifter walked back to the tavern, with Pall at his heels. The old man was able to keep pace easily, but he was certain that what he saw back on the hill was not despair. The vagrant had a plan, but was unwilling to share.

The two parted ways at the tavern and Gale bid Pall a short courteous good bye. He walked into the pub, saying hello to a flushing Gloria and telling a rambunctiously curious Therk that it was a private matter. The wanderer walked into the back room behind the kitchen. Faust waited for him at the bed and Roland stood up from the chair. Gale did not want to talk, even though he had gotten a good deal of sleep his body wanted more. He inched slowly towards the bed, after tossing his clothes onto the wooden chair Roland had made his sanctuary. The tired man crawled into bed, covering his face with his arm. He closed his eyes and within moments he was asleep and snoring peacefully.

[Captain on the Wind]

The next day came within moment to Gale, but this time he was ready and wound up. Dressing quickly, the drifter looked at Faust who had stirred at the same time as his friend, but made no indication to move without a request.

“Oh come on, don’t pretend you don’t want to go,” Gale said mockingly. Faust quickly stood, moving to his companion’s side.

This is my first job as a Jack-of-all-Trades: Can’t mess up, Gale thought, as he threw on his new jacket. The Sun was already setting and the Jack-of-all-trades did not want to be late. The tavern was empty, and he paid little attention to the colossal cook who tried for small talk as the vagabond ran past.

Gale-of-all-Trades, he thought running through the tavern doors and down the cobble-stone path to the docks. I like the sound of that he concluded, smiling at the sprinting cat running beside him. Roland kept his distance, standing back at the bar, and then turning to go inside, he waited until the kid was out of sight.

You better not fuck this up, Roland said to himself, not that anyone could hear him anyway. I’d never be forgiven if anything happened to you, he thought, his astral form shivered, as he walked back inside to the old chair at the wooden desk he had made his ‘happy place’. All he wanted, all he could ever ask for was a smoke. But he knew it was not possible and all he could do was look out of the small window in anguish, hoping everything would turn out for the best. He did not like the whole situation, as he had often reminded Gale since meeting the old man.

Ehh, the kid can handle himself, Roland thought, comforting himself. He’s gotten through worse... Much worse, can’t see him stopping here.

Gale walked slowly up the dock. The merchants and sailors were finishing their usual routines. The luxury ships had been re-supplied and boarded and as usual, the center of attention. Gale took notice of the ship he was looking for. Making a steady approach, with Faust nimbly keeping up with his friend. Gale kept a watchful eye, making sure he was not being followed.

The wet board of the docks groaned as the drifter made his way up the last stretch of walkway to the boat. The small boat, with the majority of its design made up of a cargo hold, was of a make popularly used by smugglers. Gale stepped onto the small deck, examining the subtle design. Faust jumped onto to railing and relaxed in his new surroundings.

The drifter walked in, through the threshold and descended down a short flight of stairs, to the cargo hold. He looked over the weapons carefully, his discerning eyes taking notice of their quality. It did not take him long to decide most were just simple everyday weapons, not special in any way. But then his eyes passed over a long main gauche, which shined bright silver under the light of the moon which passed through the gaps in the ceiling. It hung by a ring attached to the guard off of a plain long sword. Gale had no idea what kind of purpose such strange and unassuming weapon could have, but recognized the worth of the pair to be greater than anything else in the pile.

Gale looked at the base of the cargo and noticed a hidden access hatch. He looked around for some way to use it, when his eyes rested on a rope directly behind the cargo, opposite the door. Gale bent down to look through a crack in the boards and saw a smaller boat below the cargo.

Interesting Gale thought.

On his way out, the Jack-of-all-Trades made sure that his own weapons were secure and in place. The two, small, daggers hidden on his person had served him well in the past. With one in his boot and one hidden at the back of his belt, it was difficult for an opponent see the trouble coming. He shook his head almost embarrassed by his pathetic excuse for weapons.

Gale made his way back out to the deck of the boat. He walked the perimeter slowly, making sure there was nothing else on the ship he would be surprised by. With Faust laying tranquilly on the railing the drifter could be sure the boat was safe enough. He waited patiently for his buyers to show up.

After near an hour passed, the two friends watched as a troupe of five men began a slow march down the length of the docks. Draped in long brown cloaks, a small brigade of knights made an approach towards the lonesome boat.

At their head was a ginger headed, freckled, smug looking knight. He walked with pomp, while casually and without end berated his troop. The smug knight made his way up the wet wooden path to the boat. He stood a mere five feet from the ground, Gale noticed, yet he thought himself above those around him. But for all the weakness that his posture displayed, he certainly carried himself with the merciless nonchalant of a cold blooded sociopath.

The knight approached slowly, taking little notice of anything except the boat at the end of the dock. The knights that walked behind him were anxious: they moved around nervously, taking care to blend in as much as possible with each other. All of them wore long brown cloaks which very quickly became wet as they dragged on the wet boards. All of the knights behind the leader hunched over to hide their crimson armor.

“Greetings, my little friend with deep pockets,” Gale said with a laugh.

“You would be wise to exercise some discretion,” the man in the lead retorted, scowling and grasping his sword.

“Bah, now where’s the discretion in pulling that out for all these curious dock workers?” Gale said with a grin, moving from the small doorway to the front of the boat, standing by Faust.

Displaying his usual scowl, the knight at the front begrudgingly lifted his hand from the sword. The group, on his command, halted in front of the boat. The men looked around frantically, mumbling something to each other, seemingly worried. The lead knight muttered a couple of quick commands to silence his group and made his way to the boat. Gale stepped out in front of the boarding plank.

“Now now,” Gale said shaking his head side to side “that’s not how we play this game,” smiling, the drifter moved back as Faust crossed the railing. Never taking his eyes off the small group of knights, Faust moved quickly, giving off a deep threatening growl. All of the men, including the lead knight took a step back. Faust stared ominously at the group, its big saucer-like eyes glared in the light.

“Well,” the lead knight growled, “what do you want?”

Gale was not sure why, or what it was exactly, but something felt wrong. The drifter decided he needed to stall and see exactly whom he was dealing with.

“I believe introductions are in order,” he said straightening his posture. Clearing his throat, “My name is Liam Hawke.” Gale smiled to himself, thinking himself clever to not use his real name. Believing it prudent to use an alias, Gale looked at the knight hoping he did not do the same.

With a groan, the knight began, “Sir Regal Wicke,” rolling his eyes and mechanically repeated his title as he no doubt had so many times, “Second Knight Commander of the Knights of Scara Brae.”

“Pleasure,” the drifter smiled, extending his hand in greeting. Sir Regal ignored the gesture and scoffed as he tried to walk past the drifter.

“Just a moment,” Gale moved quickly, cutting off the knight, “I just want to clear the air, I know there has been some issue with shipments in the past,” Gale went on "I wanted to put your mind at ease."

Regal made a brief, worried, expression, but promptly replaced it with his usual scowl, hoping ‘Liam’ had not noticed; he had.

Curiouser and curiouser Gale pondered, examining Sir Regal closer.

“Before you can see the shipment, I need to see the payment,” the wanderer said, turning away from the knights. The lead knight motioned to the others behind him, who scrambled around trying to get a burlaps bag out from under a cloak. Gale gave a quick glance over to the knights and something seemed off. The lead knight came over with the bag, opening it as he came up. The inside of the bag glittered with gold. By Gale’s estimations there were about three thousand pieces.

“Does this please you, perhaps you’d like for us to dance about for a bit too?” the knight said agitated, closing the bag in one swift motion.

“Would you? Oh that would be delightful,” Gale mockingly said, “Faust does so love dinner and a show.” Faust let out another low, intimidating growl, making the knights waver.

“But now is no time for that, come, before you waste more time,” Gale said with a smile and a low bow, inviting the knights onto the ship. None were too anxious to walk past the imposing cat. They walked slowly, Faust’s eyes tracing each of them as they walked past. The last to come aboard was the lead knight. Gale made his way to the cargo hold, only to be stopped by Regal.

“My men will carry out an inspection, you will wait here,” the knight snarled, “with me,” he added quickly, looking up at Gale. The small knight tried to block Gale’s view of the cargo, but he was almost half a foot shorter and had no chance.

“Well who could say no to that?” Gale chuckled, not taking his eyes off the knights now riffling through the cargo. He took his time now, looking over each knight carefully. The red on their armor seemed worn. They moved around excitedly, enamored with the shiny weapons they examined. He took note of one more important fact: none of them talked. The four knights could do no more than grunt their elations. The four moved around barbarically, as if caught in a hypnotic spell.

Something is wrong with this scene. the drifter vexed.

[Captain on the Wind]

Gale looked back to the lead knight. The petite knight himself was watching the scene unfold in the cargo bay with growing revulsion, the scowl on his face seemed to grow darker.

Something was changing in the knights and Gale made a move to intrude but the small knight, despite his stature and unassuming appearance, was quick to pull out his sword. But Gale’s movements were quicker. In a flash, the hidden blade was in the drifter’s hand. He grabbed the bag of gold and in a fluid motion, cut the knights hand to break his grip, moving past him through the doorway.

The knight stood, barring the entrance, his sword about the same size as his body. He was clearly without a plan, the sudden move Gale made to enter the room took him off guard. Faust growled ferociously as he jumped from the railing at the front of the boat, to the front of the helm, just above the entryway.

Gale looked back into the cargo room, his eyes widening at what he saw. The ‘knights’ seemed less knightly as the seconds passed. Their bodies writhed, their joints popping in and out of place: their limbs shrinking in size, growing darker. The posture of the four creatures only got worse as they hunched over wickedly. Their mouths grew and the teeth on their mouths protruded perversely from them. The teeth sharpened and changed from white to yellow. Their fingers grew, the nails growing long and sharp.

Ok... I'd say that's pretty 'out of character,' Pall...

“Well…” Gale started looking back at the knight who, although was equally revolted by the process, was nowhere as surprised as the bewildered drifter. “It would seem that we both have what we want. I think it only wise we both set off on our way, no need to linger, I always say.” Gale said with a worried smile.

“Come now Liam, I think you know very well I can’t let you leave your boat.” Regal moving towards the threshold to block the exit.

“Keep it,” Gale began, “Never liked the thing anyway. You’d save me the trouble to burn it.” He smiled sarcastically, looking quickly for a way out of this situation.

“I think not, it takes a bit of concentration to keep the disguise up and now that you have seen them… Well, It is not like we were going to let you go anyway,” Regal explained, a contorted smile forming across his face.

The goblins did not yet take notice of the scene beginning to unfold behind them. Gale hoped he could take the knight out quietly and swiftly, before he could call the goblins to his side. Gale had dealt with goblins before, they weren’t smart or especially good fighters. But they were savage and four attacking at the same time with a knight did not bode well for the up-and-coming entrepreneur.

Regal turned to the goblins and quickly yelled something in their tongue. The four creatures lamenting dropped the shiny weapons they were so admiring and made for the drifter, drawing their weapons from within their cloaks. They did not have swords, instead, armed with clubs the goblins crept slowly towards the worried drifter.

“Damn,” Gale said aloud, but to himself.

[Captain on the Wind]

“Now now Liam, you must understand, this is nothing personal,” Regal said with a confident, mocking tone.

In one hand Gale held a small dagger and in the other the bag of gold. They don’t have bows, I can safely assume they won’t shoot if I can get past them. But that’s a problem in-and-of-itself; can’t keep the gold if I swim for it Gale reasoned quickly. He would be surrounded and then there would be no hope. He stepped towards the knight as the goblins approached from behind.

The worried look Gale had made Regal more and more confident. Things would go just as he had hoped: both the gold and the weapons would quickly be his. Getting rid of this nobody would not be too much of a hassle. He looked to his wounded hand and growled, shifting his gaze to the drifter.

“Well you played your part well enough Mr. Hawke, but I’m afraid this is the end for you,” Regal said wickedly, stepping back to give his minions room to kill. His smile revealed a set of crooked yellow teeth.

The drifter stepped out of the doorway and moved towards the ignoble knight.

The first goblin walked out of the threshold after the drifter. It growled and hissed mercilessly. The second came out, salivating at the thought of digging its teeth into the fresh meat standing before it: this one could not hold itself back. The goblin charged at Gale with a howl that was briefer than the goblins thoughts. Before it could even understand what was happing, a sudden, blood curtailing roar came from behind it.

Faust had leapt from the helm like an arrow in the night. Digging its razor sharp claws into the goblins neck, the life was promptly drained from the beast’s body. The first goblin who walked out, bewildered and shocked, charged the Karuku-tal only to get a couple of new breathing holes in its own neck, Faust’s claws moved through the goblins neck like butter.

The movement of his sleek muscles, accentuated by his enchanted skin, under the moonlight had a primal elegance. The blood spray from the goblins throat covered the two who were making their way onto the deck. The second goblin fell, dead in moments, drowning in its own blood. The two others saw the crouching feline form before them and were unable to move.

Regal had not seen most of the violence. At the sound of the roar, he shut his eyes. When he opened them, the two goblins who had come out, lay dead on the deck, and two ferocious shining eyes stared at him.

“Never underestimate a pissed off cat,” a voice came from the side of Regal. Gale stood tall, holding his dagger upside down, mockingly.

“ Careful, Hawke! I’ll cut either of you down before you come near me!” Regal snarled, moving his blade back and forth.

Gale knew that the element of surprise was no longer an option. Faust had nothing to worry about from the blunt weapons of the goblins and Gale could trust him to dispatch the remaining two. The knight was left, then, to the drifter.

As if reading Gale’s mind, Regal took a torch from his belt. Stabbing the sword into the ground. In a hasty motion, Regal lit the torch and waved it from side to side high in the air. Gale looked to the docks and saw reinforcements making their quick approach to the boat.

“Damn!” Gale said again, knowing that time was not on his side. Gale looked to Faust, hoping the cat was paying attention, he was.

The wanderer gave Faust a quick nod and with another ferocious roar, the vicious cat leapt at the two goblins. This time the two creatures expected the attack and swung madly at the desert cat. Dodging nimbly between the wild strikes Faust moved swiftly and nimbly around the two panicking goblins. Given its slender form and body made mostly of cartilage, the cat was a difficult target for even a skilled swordsman. The padding on his feet made him an even more difficult target. Able to stick to walls, Faust bounced around the room, even hanging off the ceiling at times. The two goblins swung frantically, bashing each other more than anything else in the room. Once they let up their fear driven assault Faust moved like in blurred movements. Dropping to the floor right under the goblins: the two creatures fell from deliberate, precise strikes at vital areas as the deadly cat leapt passed one and bounced back to the other.

[Captain on the Wind]

Unable to see what transgressed, but able to guess from the two shrieks and thuds, Regal had lost the confident smirk he had been wearing. Replacing it with a scowl, Regal moved to cut Gale off from Faust. But the drifter was too quick, moving swiftly passed the scrambling knight. Gale stopped at the doorway, he threw the bag of gold on the cargo and turned to face his pursuer.

The blade came down fast, but Gale was no novice to combat. Gale stepped nimbly to the side, evading the arc. He stepped on the flat of the blade, pinning it to the floor, then looked at the knight. A smile spread on Gales face and the scowl on Regal's turned to horror. In one swift fluid motion, Gale dug the hilt of his dagger into the center of the knights crooked nose, then turned and spun the opposite direction, delivered a kick, into the square of his chest.

The next few moment were the most important, Gale knew. Moving quickly, the drifter swiped the torch as it fell from Regal’s hand. He took a hanging lantern from its hook on the ceiling and broke it on the floor in front of the doorway. The oil from lantern spilled in front of the threshold and Gale looked to the now reeling knight. With a look of most sincere abhorrence, Regal fell to the floor not far from the doorway.

The knight glared at Gale, who wore a stupid grin in return. Regal moved to attack Gale once more, but the latter was quick to react. Gale thrust the torch he held in his hand at the oil covering the floor of the boat. The fire took very quickly to the oil and Regal could do nothing but watch as the fire started to spread out from the cargo hold.

“Then have your ship! And your cargo! And your cursed gold! Take it all to a watery grave!” screamed Regal, determined to fill the drifter’s heart with dread.

But the drifter knew something the knight did not. Moving quickly, he motioned to Faust to get on the cargo. Gale waited for Regal to get off the boat, and when the coast was clear he ran to the rope at the entryway.

[Captain on the Wind]

Most of the vessel was engulfed in flames as Regal jumped to the dock and untied the single rope keeping the boat in place. The knight watched as the form drifted, backwards into the sea with the tide. He took a depraved pleasure at the ships groans and moans in the burning embrace of the apathetic flames. He took great pleasure in knowing his enemy was now in the flames, burning alive. He heard a short howl, stifled by the boat’s bow sinking into the dark waters. His grim smile was accentuated by the malicious nature of his plans, coming to an unexpected but most desired ending.

He did not see the small dingy departing the sinking, fiery wreckage. He did not see the soaking, slender cat sitting atop the cache of weapons shaking to dry off. He did not see the wide grin of the smog covered drifter, sailing quickly away from the drowning wreckage. All he saw was an empty shell, sinking into the dismal abyss of a calm and quite black sea.

[Captain on the Wind]

The bright rays of the sun began to peak over the horizon. Gale and Faust sat on a cliff taking in the full splendor of the scene. The man sat, his feet hanging free off the ledge, on the cliff overlooking the docks. Watching the remnants of the small boat sink to the bottom of the sea gave Gale a small degree of satisfaction. Not finishing his opponent, however, left a bad taste in his mouth. Faust yawned, bringing the drifter out of his own head and back to reality. Taking solace in the fact that his loot was well hidden, he was able to move with some level of assurance. It was not easy, getting away unseen, dragging the weapons out of the small boat into a cave he had found off the coast.

It did not help that the boat drifted off to sea, the man watching the small vessel with an apathetic expression. It was harder still scaling the cliff face, as there was no other way back to the main island. Faust leapt nimbly from rock to rock, not at all hampered by the incline, but Gale did not have suction paws, as he constantly reminded his feline companion.

Gale’s trek back was slow and measured. After a couple of hours, the man stumbled into the lonely tavern on the side of the coble stone path leading to the city of Scara Brae. The old man who hired the drifter was nowhere to be found. The tired man was in bad spirits, unable to vent his frustrations on a single source, he was only able to do what he did best.

Drink.

Walking through the double doors of the tavern, Gale sat at the nearest empty chair. Exhausted and belligerent, the drifter resorted to having a one sided argument with Faust. Gloria made her way him, eager to talk with the drifter.

“Hello angel,” Gale sighed, seeing Gloria coming to his side.

“Hi Mr. Silvers,” Gloria started timidly, “What happened?!” She exclaimed noticing the sorry shape Gale was in.

“The job, dear, gentile Gloria, got a little dicey.” Gale said wiping a layer of smog off his face and smiling weakly.

“Is that from a fire?!” she cried with a concerned look, offering Gale a rag to wipe his face. “Is there something I can get you?” she asked endearingly.

“Pall’s tab?” Gale looked over at her, raising an eyebrow to confirm.

“Sure,” she began, but was cut off by Gale.

“Fantastic! Could I please have three bottles of rum and whatever Therk has cooking for dinner?” Gale said, his eyes brightening, giving Gloria a hopeful look she could not refuse.

“Of course, I’ll get it for you as fast as I can,” she promised, running to the kitchen.

Faust took the opportunity to escape to the kitchen as well. Therk gave him a bowl of milk and began to prepare the dinner for Gale. Finishing the milk quickly, the cate slowly made his way to the small cot in the back room, laid down and went to sleep.

I’m going to take a walk Roland said, leaving the room moving past all the people who could not see him.

“Yeah, see if anyone’s talking about the boat,” Gale replied under his breath.

Whatever the specter retorted, leaving the drifter alone, once again, with his thoughts.

[Captain on the Wind]

The moon was bright, high in the sky. The air was chilly, but the room was warm. Not a living soul was seen on the cold cobble road. The wind was soft and the trees did not shake much, the birds nesting in them, slept soundly.

The cicadas sang their dirge in harmony with the rest of the world. The clouds, what little were there, drifted on the wind somberly. The night was staged for the same solemn performance that usually played out when the hour was late.

But the lonely tavern was stage for a lighter kind of dance. Dawn’s first light broke through the night. The smaller forms of life began their cycle anew: birds took to flying and singing their playful song. Insects began their daily routines to find the simple necessities in nature to keep them going. The delicate, cyclical balance of the ecosystem, always moving, always turning, continued once more, as it always would.

The subtle song was broken by the click-clack of footsteps and a cane that made their slow approach to the tavern. The worn old boots of an old man took their time, keeping perfect timing with his well made steel cane, ambling towards his destination. The steps could be heard from the inside of the tavern. The behemoth cook looked up from the large plate of indistinguishable mass of meat, knowing before seeing, who was opening the door. Pall walked over to the bar, smiling, waving hello to Therk who had stuck his head out of the door. Pall took off his light cloak, tossing it onto the coat rack. His light yellow shirt was tucked into his dark pants.

“The lad’s asleep,” Therk began, “I’ll wake’im,” he turned, walking to the kitchen but was called back.

“There’s no need for that,” Pall spoke softly, “Let him rest, I’m in no rush.”

“Pall,” Gale exclaimed, squeezing past the massive chef, surprised to see the old man. The drifter took a seat next to him, as the two shook hands.

“Good morning Gale, I hope you slept,” Pall said politely, giving the drifter a quick look-over. Not seeing any scars or bruises put the old man at ease, taking it that nothing had gone wrong after all.

Therk put a pot of tea in front of the two men and two cups. Pall waited a moment, taking in a waft of its subtle scent. With a deep, satisfied exhale, he poured two cups and set one in front of Gale. The two cooled the tea by blowing on it and took pleasure in the first few sips.

“So, on to business,” Pall started softly, with a content smile, “Tell me, how did the exchange go?”

“Oh, it went great!” exclaimed Gale, Pall was taken aback by the sudden outburst and spilled a little of the hot tea on his dark pants.

“You know, we laughed, we cried, the Knight tried to get his shape-shifting goblin minions to kill me and take the cargo,” Gale went on sarcastically, taking another sip of tea when he finished.

“Hold on lad, what?” Pall said in amazement, moving his cup aside wiping his pants with a handkerchief from his pocket.

“Oh, was I not clear?” Gale turned to Pall, the smile vanishing from his face, “there was one knight, who was accompanied by shape-shifting goblins. As soon as they were on the ship, they tried to kill me... I thought I was clear, I should work on that,” Gale trailed off, turning back to his tea. Pall did not respond immediately, taking his time to let the information sink in.

“Do you learn the knights name?” Pall began.

“No, first I want some answers,” Gale interrupted quickly, “I want you to tell me exactly why I was out there. If you were expecting trouble, why not just tell the proper authorities? I want to know what the hell is going on here and why I was almost burnt alive last night. Why are knights working with goblins? I’m pretty sure that goes against the ‘knightly code’ or whatever.” Gale's yells filled the empty tavern and he stared without blinking at the old man.

Therk started to come out of the kitchen, but a wave from Pall put him at ease and told him to retreat.

Pall only smiled, “My boy, I myself do not have all of those answers. But I can, if you will listen, explain what I do know.” Taking another calm sip of tea. The old man turned to the young man and Gale met the old man’s usually disarmingly gentle gaze with one of sincere anger. Not waiting for a verbal response Pall began.

[Captain on the Wind]

“I have known for some time now that someone in the Knights of Scara Brae was corrupt. For months I have been dealing with them through a middle man; providing supplies and weapons to the knights. I used one of the many connections I made in this long life of mine. I arranged it so that the same person was never used twice and the ship was an easy target. I knew that eventually the guilty one would show his hand and I have been waiting for this moment. But I had no idea that he was dealing with goblins. This is a grave turn of events indeed; the goblins are the sworn enemy of the Knights. Kildo, the leader of the goblins hates the knights. If he is in leagues with the traitor, his only goal can be the total destruction of the knights as a whole.” Pall explained, gravely.

“Now in the past, any major threats from the Goblins have been averted by the Red Halo, the leader of the Knights of Scara Brae,” he continued, looking past Gale. The drifter turned to see what was behind him but saw nothing. He turned back to the old man with a look of confusion but asked no questions.

“He was a knight of amazing prowess and skill. But above all he valued honor and loyalty. Under him, the Knights rose in fame and power. His skill with a shield and sword was unsurpassed. But he’s no longer in charge: he disappeared, leaving no explanation. The knights are now split, trying to decide who will wear his mantle and become the next leader.” Pall explained.

“Now tell me, do you know the name of the knight who attacked you? If he is in the running for leadership, there may grim consequences for the innocent people of Scara Brae,” Pall stressed sternly, looking to Gale with hope.

Gale waited a moment, letting the information settle, “I do." the drifter said at length, "the bastard's name is Regal Wicke, second commander of blah blah blah,” Gale said remembering what he was told by his knightly attacker. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a fake name, he seemed accustomed to saying it and was planning to kill me later anyway. why give a fake name to a dead man, I thought?

"Besides, he didn’t seem too smart,” Gale concluded thinking back to the short knight who he so completely made a fool of.

“Ah,” Pall said, recognizing the name, “I had hoped I was wrong. Did anything else happen?” he inquired.

“I gave them a fake name, but I don’t know if that’s important. Oh!” Gale exclaimed, “I got away with the weapons and the money,” he concluded, turning back to his tea and taking another sip.

Pall was taken aback, not sure if he heard right. He was not surprised to see that the young drifter had made it back in one piece, thinking he had obeyed orders and simply ran when things escelated. But the old man had definitely not expected this.

More to you than meets the eye, isn’t there, Gale Silvers Pall thought to himself.

[Captain on the Wind]

“Come with me Mr. Silvers,” Pall said, leaving his tea, standing up.

Gale, not quite sure what to expect, stood up, finished his tea and followed after Pall.

“You should always leave a little tea,” Pall said, as the two walked towards the door, “For the gods.” Pall took his cloak from the rack.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gale said absently, opening the door for the old man while he put on his cloak.

The two walked in silence, with only the noise of their stride filling the air, up the cobble stone path to the western hill overlooking the docks. Pall walked slowly, his cane leading his way, lost in thought. His hands behind his head, Gale was surprised when a familiar gruff voice coming from ahead of him.

Looking up and focusing his vision on the form that stood at the top of the hill, Gale recognized Roland. Pall could not see or hear Roland and took no notice when he spoke.

So I’ve been keeping an ear to the ground for any news of you, he began, but paused when he saw Gale bring a finger to his lips in a shushing motion, motioning to Pall.
Oh stuff it! Roland exclaimed the old man can’t hear me anyway! The hell is wrong with you?[/i]

Gale looked up and to the side as though he was trying to remember something. After a moment the expression on his face said "oh, yeah," and his head only nodded.

Listen, no one was out there looking for you, alright? I did hear whispers that there was an incident, but it doesn’t look like they know where you are. I’m not sure about this, but someone did say knights were on alert. There was no mention of you or the cat. It looks to me like someone is trying to keep things from getting out. he clarified, as Gale listened intently.

“Gale?” Pall said breaking the man’s concentration.

“Huh?” the drifter responded distractedly, “Sorry, I was just lost in thought.”

[Captain on the Wind]

“Yes, well I have a proposition to make,” Pall said, turning away from Gale, catching the young man’s attention, “But before that, I’m afraid there is a test.”

“What kind of,” Gale began but never finished the question, getting his answer.

Pall lunged, spinning around, swinging at the unprepared man with his steel cane. His strike was a blur, his movement was masterful, and his swing was powerful. Gale barely had enough time to roll out of the way before Pall was moving again. The old man's speed betrayed his age.

The drifter's thoughts could not keep up with the speed of the old man’s strike. All Gale could do was dodging the blurring strikes. With his cane, Pall kept the drifter on the retreat, moving in circles at the top of the hill. Besides Roland, there was no one else around to watch this mind blowing display of masterful swordsmanship. Roland was not exactly of the same plane as Pall, so he could not intervene. But even if he could, he did not think it would do Gale any good.

Some test, Roland said, recognizing that this was a ‘pass or fail’ kinds of thing, there was no middle ground.

Gale kept low, not able to stand or catch his breath. The swings came with such speed that Gale had to move before he finished his last dodges. Gale was scared to blink, any missed movement could be fatal.

He never felt any of the strikes but he could almost sense the power behind them. He hadn't felt any of the strikes and was damn sure he did not want to.

Gale only saw a shadow, but he knew that he needed to be somewhere else. The drifter shifted his weight, scrambling around the seemingly possessed old man, narrowly avoiding the vertical slash. Gale sensed what was coming next but when he realized where he was it was too late.

He stood at the edge of the cliff, with one foot almost off the rim. He knew that he didn’t have time to dodge the next attack. Coming to his feet he was not thinking, relying on survival instinct, Gale’s hands blurred as fast as the old mans. His daggers seemed to appear in his hands, moving fast, slashing at the old man in unison.

The horizontal slash came, just as Gale thought, colliding against the two blades. The two stood motionless for a moment. Gale had never moved that fast before, he had no idea where that speed came from. Pall broke the stalemate, getting some distance between them with an agile jump back.

“Whew!” The old man exhaled, putting his weight on the cane, again using it for its intended purpose.

“I do not think I have moved like that in years. I must say young man; you did well, against this old man.” Pall admitted, bowing to the drifter.

The drifter barely stood, completely out of breath, while the old man stood calmly, not even a drop of sweat on his brow. Gale kept the daggers in his hands, trying to collect his thoughts. His confusion got the better of him and turned to anger.

“What the hell?” the drifter shouted, outraged, “How can you just attack me like that and then act all calm!” Gale demanded, not waiting for a response, “I almost died, like, four times!” irritated, Gale yelled.

“Part of the test I’m afraid, but it was very necessary.” Pall said, softly and apologetically.

“The hell with that,” Gale insisted, “Enough! No more tests! No more questions from you! How do you know so much about the knights? How in the name of all that’s good can you move like that? And why did you try to kill me?” he shouted.

“You deserve a full explanation,” Pall began, “And to do that, I must go back a long time, to my youth. When I was in my prime, I was a knight of Scara Brae. Actually, I guess there is a little more to it than that.” Pall said, hesitant of finishing the thought.

“I… am Sir Pallotan Narriplion. I was the Red Halo.” Pall revealed, with a sigh.

[Captain on the Wind]

Gale had heard of the name before, from Pall. At first, he did not appreciate the significance that title carried with it. Then slowly the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Gale understood why the old man knew so much about the knights, why he could move like a demon and why he was so invested in the Knights of Scara Brae. Gale lowered his daggers, putting one back behind his belt and the other in his boot. Silently he rose and looked at Roland. If the soul was shocked, he did not show it. Gale looked back to the old knight, unsure of what to do, even what to think.

“I have been following the knights just like I told you before. But my reasons I can tell you now. I put my life and soul into the making these lands a better place for the people. I did not do what I did for fame or fortune. Once I am gone, I will not have anything, save my legacy. Above everything else, I want to protect my legacy. I would gladly give my life for it, but I’m afraid that would do little good. These matters need to be addressed delicately,” Pallotan continued, turning to face the horizon.

He paused, giving Gale more time to take things in. The drifter's emerald eyes were fixed to the floor, taking in everything the Red Halo was telling him.

“The purpose behind this ‘test’ is simple,” he went on. Hearing that, Gale’s eyes lifted from the ground to Pallotan.

“There is no way that I could intervene in the affairs of the knights now. Even if I did tell them who I am, I have no power over any of the young men in the ranks anymore. So I had two choices set before me,” Pall explained, “either I recruit from within the ranks of the knights or I get an outsider to help. If I recruit from within the knights, I would sully his honor. The only thing the traitor could want is leadership of the knights. Helping any of the knights would take away the merit of the position. I cannot invalidate the significance of the selecting process by helping any involved. Thus I now have to look outside of the knights." Pallotan explained, turning once again to face the astonished drifter.

"Just now, unprepared, you went blow-for-blow with the legendary Red Halo. An accomplishment most knights could not boast, old as I may be,” Pallotan praised.

His voice rising, Pallotan continued, “You are the only one I can come to now. Please lad, I need your help, the knights of Scara Brae need your help. If not for me, or them, think of the innocent lives that will be wasted if things are allowed to play out as they stand. You and I can stop this; we can avert the bloodshed that will no doubt wash across the land if the traitor succeeds. You have already proven to be capable with a blade, let me train you and you will wield a blade better than any other man in the lands: this I can promise. I know you are a just and honorable young man, I have seen it in your eyes. I cannot do this on my own! Let this old man do good at least once more. Rise to the call that pulls at you even now, the call of a hero!” he burst out, letting the excitement get the better of him.

Gale was taken aback by the faith the old knight had in him. There was a silence at the top of the hill. The only thing that made a noise was the wind as it passed: it was a somber, lonely breeze. Gale dropped his gaze once more, lost in thought. Pallotan waited in anticipation.

[Captain on the Wind]

“No,” Gale said abruptly, a look of complete disappointment appeared on the old man’s face. “Sorry, but I’m not a very good person. This is none of my business,” Gale turned, walking away. Roland shook his head, following the drifter down the hill.

Sir Pallotan stood in disbelief for a moment, was I really wrong about what I saw in him? he thought to himself. The plan he had been working on seemed to fall apart before him. Could he do it by himself? would he have to get someone from the knights to help? Possibilities flashed before the weary old knight but none seemed as good as the one walking away.

The drifter began his decent from the top of the hill. But before he vanished from view the man stopped, suddenly. Pallotan looked up, hopefully, but realized why the young man had stopped. There was an orange glow from farther down. Pallotan did not need to see where it was coming from, but Gale had a full view. The tavern the two had just left was engulfed in flames. Therk was outside roaring curses at the men standing in front of the enflamed mass. Gloria was on her knees over an unmoving form. Before he could put two-and-two together Gale was sprinting downhill. As he got closer he recognized the curled form to be Faust. Gloria was half naked, but seemed to be uninjured. There was a pool of dark liquid in front of the cat.

Gale was stopped before he got to his friend by two knights. The drifter's eyes were fixed on his friend. Now that he was closer he saw that Faust was bleeding from a gash on the right side of his chest. Gloria had dressed the wound as best as she could and was keeping pressure on it.

The drifter stared on, not a single thought entered his mind, his eyes glowed with the flames and were fixed on his old, injured, friend. But his nails dug so deep into his skin that from his shaking fists, blood slowly oozed.

[Captain on the Wind]

Pallotan was making his way down the hill, hoping there was still time to salvage the situation. When he saw the burning tavern and his injured friends, a rage welled within him. A burning fury he had not felt in a long time. But he knew he could not act now, he needed to keep himself in check if his plans were to succeed.

Sir Regal Wicke stood at the head of a small group of knights. He was the only one at the scene who had a smug sense of satisfaction. He took a sick delight in setting fire to the tavern.

“Always thought it to be a bit of an eyesore,” He sighed, arrogantly smiling and turning to face Therk.

Therk had been yelling his protest the whole time, but did not act out in defiance of the knights. If the creatures Gale faced the other night had been pretending to be knights, the small group here was the genuine article. Their armor was a bright crimson, which shimmered with the flames. Their drawn weapons were standard issue, consisting of a long sword, shield or a pole arm. If they were happy with their actions their faces did not show it. These were trainees, under the command and control of their Knight Commander.

“Now I will only ask once more, Mr… What is your last name anyway?” Regal queried nonchalantly.

“It’s Porthose,” growled Therk, baring his teeth at the pompous knight, “And how dare ya burn my tavern? You had no right,” roared Therk but was cut off by the blade of a trainee, prompted by a motion of Regal's hand.

“Actually, you will find I was quiet within my rights. You were hiding a fugitive,” Regal began, but stopped when he saw Gale’s horror stricken expression.

Regal failed to hide a wide-eyed grin, as he walked towards the drifter. He knew he had to act quickly before the situation got out of hand. He may be the commander but given the extreme nature of his actions, he needed to look like the good guy.

Gale did not notice the horrifying expression. He did not even take heed of the man approaching him. His eyes were locked on the terrible scene that seemed to be frozen in time. The tavern was almost gone, but still burned fiercely. He looked at the girl he had spent intimate nights with with, crying over his bleeding best friend. He saw her pain, the bruises on her face and shoulder. Her dress was torn and hung loosely off her body, but she paid no heed, focused on keeping the cat alive.

The companion that had been with him through thick and thin, his best friend bled from his chest, curled on the floor. A muffled voice seemed to drift towards him. Gale looked around in a daze, until he focused on the corrupt eyes that approached him. On the crooked teeth in the twisted smile of the cruel creature walking towards him. The blood poured a little faster from his fists.

Regal moved arrogantly past his troupe. He stood in front of Gale, grinning madly. The flames heated Gale’s face and he did not look at the little traitor who stood before him. Gale could feel his teeth grinding.

“Hello again, Liam Hawke, you know, I went through a great deal of trouble to find you,” Regal started, motioning back to the burning wreckage. He began another taunt but was stopped short by a vicious look from Gale. Regal took a few steps back, letting his knights once again stand in front of Gale. The drifter looked past the knight trainees, unblinking, he watched Regal intently. He took one threatening step forward and Regal stepped back. The two knights did not act immediately, intimidated by the intensity of Gale’s appearance.

Regal prepared to have his underlings attack Gale, bringing a hand up to order them forward, but was interrupted by a meek old man in a light hooded cloak.

“Excuse me, master knight, but there seems to be a misunderstanding here,” Pallotan began, getting in between Gale and the knights.

“Remove yourself old man,” shrieked Regal, anxious to get the entire bothersome ordeal over with.

“And surely if there was not a need for my interference I would let you, most noble knight, dispatch your will as you see fit,” Pallotan began complacently, “But it would not be prudent for me to let my lord be struck down before the tournament,” the old knight said.

“Before the,” Regal began, before the words could register. A look of wild surprise fell on the faces of all the knights, with Regal more angry than anything else. “What is the meaning of this?” he roared, pushing his way through his men.

“Well, my lord is a nobleman from a distant land. He has come here to join the most splendid Knights of Scara Brae. If I am not mistaken, there will be a tournament soon, to determine the leader of the knights. My lord’s application to the knights has already been sent in and he intends to join this tournament,” Pall explained. The knight trainees lowered their weapons, realizing they were pointing them at a comrade.

“What madness is this, he is,” Regal shouted in protest, but was interrupted again by the wise old man.

“If the shrewd knight commander has something he would like to bring up, my noble lord,” Pall stressed the rank he attached to Gale, “might have something to bring up as well.”

[Captain on the Wind]

Regal looked quickly from the feeble old man to the fuming Gale, who still clenched his fist in rage. Realizing that he lost control of the situation, Regal had to make peace with another loss. The corrupt knight pushed his way past anyone who stood on the cobble stone path, trampling a beaten path back to the city. The trainees, confused by the sudden turn of events muttered apologetic goodbyes turned tail after their commander. Gale moved to follow Regal, wanting to exact his revenge there and then. Pall stepped in front of the enraged drifter, pushing his cane against Gale’s body.

“Now is neither the time or the place young one,” Pall started, but a look so full of intent to kill put the old knight on more of a defensive than he liked.

“I think now’s as good a time as any,” growled Gale, trying to push past the old man.

“Think!” Yelled Pallotan, putting his cane in a more offensive position in front of Gale, “You attack him now, even if you did kill him, you would either be killed by his brigade, or arrested and put in a jail cell for the rest of your days!” Pall shouted, trying to calm the furious drifter.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Gale said, swiping the cane from his chest. He tried to get past the legendary knight, but Pall was quick to put himself between Gale and the bad decision he was intent on making.

“Get out of my way Pallotan!” Gale yelled, slapping the cane away once more, looking at Pall.

“If you truly want revenge than take it,” Pall began, taking Gale by surprise, “Take away everything he aspires for. He wants to become knight leader; don’t let him! He wants to help the goblin leader ruin the knights; stop him! Show him to be a traitor, a liar, and a coward! Do not let him have his way,” Pall roared.

Gale, taken by surprise at the sudden outburst, took a step back.

“But first,” Pall said softly, “tend to your friends, they need you more than you need your vengeance.”

Gale looked back to Faust and Gloria, ashamed that he was so caught up in selfish retribution. He ran back to the two, getting Gloria’s attention. She lunged at the man, embracing him and weeping softly. She began to mutter something but the drifter simply put his arms around her and shushed.

"It's not your fault, you did what you could," he said softly.

Gale looked to Faust, who was beginning to stir. The drifter picked up his friend, while Gloria put pressure on his wound and led the way to a clinic by the docks.

“Don’t worry buddy, this is nothing,” Gale whispered, comforting his wounded friend. Gloria, still in tears and covered in blood rushed ahead calling for a doctor. The three disappeared quickly, leaving Pall and Therk by the burning remains of their beloved tavern.

“Ye really think this the best course?” Therk asked lamenting the loss of the tavern he had looked after for so many years.

“It is the only course, old friend,” Pall began, losing himself briefly in the flames, “I can do little but prepare the stage. It is up to the young to perform on it. But I will ready that one, he is by no small measure our best chance.”

The fires died out hours later. Therk remained on the site of the tragedy, beginning to salvage what he could from the ruins. Rummaging through the ashes, he found silverware and plates. The kitchen appliances still stood, fairly intact. And the great chandelier survived, to Therk’s great relief.

Gale and Gloria sat beside the patched up Faust who rested quietly in a clinic bed. Pallotan vanished when no one was looking. He had a lot of preparation to get underway. If he was to turn the vengeful drifter into a knight by the time of the tournament, six months away, he had his work cut out. The first step was preparing a training ground.

Far down the coast of the island, there was a cave. Pall had often used this cave in his youth to hone his skills. Undertaking the tutelage of the young vagabond would not be easy, Pallotan knew. But a legacy was on the line. Decades of blood, sweat and tears went into the knights Pall had left behind to guard the lands. And every part of his tired body told the old knight that he must fight; harder than ever before, to protect his legacy.



__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ __________





This is the first part of three (or two, depending on how much i write for the next parts...) so no conclusion just yet. Also, I'm not sure if this is where i put this, but all i want is exp, no need for gold. Please and thank you : )

[Revenant]

Plot: (21)

Storytelling (7) – To be honest, there were no twists in this story that surprised me. I had guessed the relationship between Gale and Gloria, Regal’s vengeance laden return, and Pallotan’s reveal well before they happened. It is the classic hero’s journey story, but there is a reason that this type of story is ‘classic.’ Your story is well put together and leaves the reader in familiar territory while at the same time making it your own. Continue to do that, break out of the mold a bit, and your next part(s) will really be brought up.

Setting (6) –The biggest gap in your story with regards to the setting was the scene in the ship’s cargo hold with Gale and the goblin knights. For a major scene, especially one involving frenzied combat, there was a distinct lack of anything to flesh the location out. You did a good job bringing life to Therk’s tavern. While the ship wasn’t as much of a focal point to the story as the tavern was, putting the same level of detail into it as you put into the tavern would have really boosted this score.

Pacing (8) –This thread had exceptional pacing and really flowed well. Your posts had a natural feel to them in almost all cases. There were only two areas that I felt really disrupted the flow of your pacing and those were the impromptu eating/drinking contest/binge in post 9 and the way that you decided to put the post-intimacy tidbit between Gale and Faust in post 21. In post 9 the problem was that the scene didn’t add much to the feel of the story while in post 21 it was just the way that you chose to present it. You could very well have split the post into two.

Character: (22)

Communication (7) – The late night reminiscing about Evelyn was a very powerful scene, really exemplifying the characters and tying them together, but all the same Gloria’s speech lasted a little too long, starting to distract from the moment. Sometimes it’s best to leave some of the side things out to make things poignant and leave the reader to fill in the gaps. I really appreciated the weary resignation with which Regal gave his name to Gale, which felt very real, but the discourse between the two in the ship’s hold felt like more than necessary.

Action (6) – Your thread was very action heavy and individual parts were very well written but taken as a while it felt less than it could be. The comedic, almost parody-like nature of the binging episode upon Gale’s arrival at the tavern was very entertaining and well written, but clashed with the overall serious feel of the rest of the thread. A more realistic scene would have fit the rest of the thread’s tone much better. The fight with the goblins in the hold was somewhat rushed and their menace never really came through as Faust simply dealt with them without effort, nor did I get a feel of menace from Regal aside from the fact that he had backup.

Persona (9) – Each character had a distinct personality, which really gave this thread life. While I initially thought of Therk as a stereotypical big man/chef type character, the little quirks that you gave him swept that away and made him one of my favorite things in the thread. For some reason I found the line about the salve hilarious. None of the characters ever felt like they were going against the personality that you have created for them and it was really the mannerisms that drove this story.

Prose: (19)

Mechanics (5) – There were numerous spelling, grammatical, and formatting errors in the thread, and I found myself distracted from the content several times because of them. When you are using the formatting codes for italics, it is generally a good rule of thumb to preview the content prior to posting to ensure that the code has been entered correctly. Post 5 was repeated in the first half of post 6. In general, giving your posts a proof-read should help you out in this area.

Clarity (7) – This thread was a very clear read and the only time that I found myself having to reread for clarification or to get a solid picture of what was going on was during the battle scene in the ship’s cargo hold and Pallotan’s surprise test assault. Writing clear battle scenes can be a tricky line between too much detail and not enough.

Technique (7) – Overall this was a very solid thread that did a good job of grabbing my interest and pulling me in. As mentioned this story follows a very common formula, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing and which was very well executed here.

Wildcard (7) – I’m very interested to see where this goes and look forward to your next thread.

Total: 69

Captain on the Wind receives 2070 exp and 330 gp.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.