Warpath
11-07-14, 09:41 PM
They were dark days in Etheria Port, literally and figuratively. It was deeply overcast and windy, but there was no promise of rain on the wind, and the gathering square was populated scarcely despite it being a time of great need.
Malachi Drear sat upon a throne of driftwood and cracked prows, draped in the tattered flags of eight different nations. A scimitar rest across his lap, and he was flanked on either side by members of his own swarthy race. Both were armed with a crude blunderbuss, poised to fire.
Tai Si, Captain and Madam of the Painted Lip, entered the square in all her Akashiman finery, hands clasped in the very model of modesty. Her hair was held up by razor-sharp needles, and her lips were curled into a sly smirk, hiding teeth stained black. A small horde of bodyguards followed in her wake, steel weapons and bamboo armor clicking and clattering.
"Lady Tai," Drear said lazily, drumming his fingertips on the hilt of his scimitar.
"King Malachi," she replied, employing every syllable as she bowed slow.
"Why are we here, love?" the pirate king said.
Tai Si glanced about the square, already guessing at where the rest of the king's gunmen hid. She, like Drear, gave every impression of being entirely in control. Her men, like his, did not share their mastery over the art of the poker face.
"The winds of change carried the Painted Lip home," Tai Si said, as much to those assembled as to Drear himself. "Our fortunes have turned, and I have brought the means."
Malachi raised one thin eyebrow. "You've got twenty guns on you now, love, straight talk is your friend in the moment, maybe. I know you lot love your poems, but you've got us feelin' a bit antsy, now, and I'd hate to see you full o' more holes than are strictly useful."
"You misunderstand," Tai Si said evenly. "My sails remain black, and always will. I come to vouch for one who would make a wise offer. I come with an...investment."
Drear narrowed his eyes as Tai Si stepped aside, and a figure moved through her assembled bodyguards. The lady captain turned to watch, too, and as the newcomer passed she murmured to him: "Do not forget," she told him, "what I risk for you now."
"Do not forget," Flint Skovik replied, "what you stand to gain."
He marched on and the crowd relinquished him. Malachi's eyebrows went up immediately as he laid eyes upon the brute, who effortlessly carried a tremendous chest over one broad shoulder. He shrugged the chest off and tossed it forward, into the middle of the square, where it exploded thunderously into a pile of splintered wood and countless gleaming coins.
"You know who I am," Flint declared, his voice dangerously low.
"Oh, I think so," Drear said, leaning forward. "You're taller than the stories say."
"Growth spurt," Flint said dryly. "I brought you money."
"Far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth," Drear said, grinning, "but I'll bite. Why?"
"Tribute," Flint said, shrugging one mighty shoulder, "or a bribe. This is one chest. I have forty more."
Drear sat back heavily. "And where," he said, "did you acquire forty chests of freshly minted Aleraran gold?"
"I took them from the hold of a ship I recently acquired," Flint said, "a ship called Edulra'me. Ah, you have heard of it. Good."
"So the tales are true," Drear laughed. "You are mad. They call you the Butcher of Salvar, but do you know what they call Swanra'ann? She wanted you dead before now, human, but now...now she'll hunt you."
"As she has hunted you?" Flint said, raising his eyebrows. "How many ships have you lost to Swanra'ann in the last year? How many of her spies have you routed out in Etheria? How many do you imagine remain?"
"Get to the point, friend."
"We merge," Flint said. "My assets, yours. I pledge myself to your armada. Everything I found on Edulra'me, yours. The men that follow me, yours. My expertise, my reputation, yours. Swanra'ann would force you out. No one has defied her but me. The governments of the world would see you hang. They fear no one the way they fear me."
"That's an awful sweet pot," Drear chuckled. "A little too sweet, maybe. What is it you get out of this merger, eh?"
"Freedom," Flint said. "I answer to no one but you. I rule as a lord, equal to any other."
Drear's rusted eyes flicked to Tai Si. "And you'll vouch for the Butcher, will you? Ah, but will you serve him?"
"I owe sa jia to Flint Skovik - a debt I can never satisfy," she said solemnly. "I vow my service to him. I sail in his flotilla."
The pirate king smiled a slow, wicked smile.
"Well then," he said after a long moment. "You're going to need a proper ship, then, aren't you?"
Malachi Drear sat upon a throne of driftwood and cracked prows, draped in the tattered flags of eight different nations. A scimitar rest across his lap, and he was flanked on either side by members of his own swarthy race. Both were armed with a crude blunderbuss, poised to fire.
Tai Si, Captain and Madam of the Painted Lip, entered the square in all her Akashiman finery, hands clasped in the very model of modesty. Her hair was held up by razor-sharp needles, and her lips were curled into a sly smirk, hiding teeth stained black. A small horde of bodyguards followed in her wake, steel weapons and bamboo armor clicking and clattering.
"Lady Tai," Drear said lazily, drumming his fingertips on the hilt of his scimitar.
"King Malachi," she replied, employing every syllable as she bowed slow.
"Why are we here, love?" the pirate king said.
Tai Si glanced about the square, already guessing at where the rest of the king's gunmen hid. She, like Drear, gave every impression of being entirely in control. Her men, like his, did not share their mastery over the art of the poker face.
"The winds of change carried the Painted Lip home," Tai Si said, as much to those assembled as to Drear himself. "Our fortunes have turned, and I have brought the means."
Malachi raised one thin eyebrow. "You've got twenty guns on you now, love, straight talk is your friend in the moment, maybe. I know you lot love your poems, but you've got us feelin' a bit antsy, now, and I'd hate to see you full o' more holes than are strictly useful."
"You misunderstand," Tai Si said evenly. "My sails remain black, and always will. I come to vouch for one who would make a wise offer. I come with an...investment."
Drear narrowed his eyes as Tai Si stepped aside, and a figure moved through her assembled bodyguards. The lady captain turned to watch, too, and as the newcomer passed she murmured to him: "Do not forget," she told him, "what I risk for you now."
"Do not forget," Flint Skovik replied, "what you stand to gain."
He marched on and the crowd relinquished him. Malachi's eyebrows went up immediately as he laid eyes upon the brute, who effortlessly carried a tremendous chest over one broad shoulder. He shrugged the chest off and tossed it forward, into the middle of the square, where it exploded thunderously into a pile of splintered wood and countless gleaming coins.
"You know who I am," Flint declared, his voice dangerously low.
"Oh, I think so," Drear said, leaning forward. "You're taller than the stories say."
"Growth spurt," Flint said dryly. "I brought you money."
"Far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth," Drear said, grinning, "but I'll bite. Why?"
"Tribute," Flint said, shrugging one mighty shoulder, "or a bribe. This is one chest. I have forty more."
Drear sat back heavily. "And where," he said, "did you acquire forty chests of freshly minted Aleraran gold?"
"I took them from the hold of a ship I recently acquired," Flint said, "a ship called Edulra'me. Ah, you have heard of it. Good."
"So the tales are true," Drear laughed. "You are mad. They call you the Butcher of Salvar, but do you know what they call Swanra'ann? She wanted you dead before now, human, but now...now she'll hunt you."
"As she has hunted you?" Flint said, raising his eyebrows. "How many ships have you lost to Swanra'ann in the last year? How many of her spies have you routed out in Etheria? How many do you imagine remain?"
"Get to the point, friend."
"We merge," Flint said. "My assets, yours. I pledge myself to your armada. Everything I found on Edulra'me, yours. The men that follow me, yours. My expertise, my reputation, yours. Swanra'ann would force you out. No one has defied her but me. The governments of the world would see you hang. They fear no one the way they fear me."
"That's an awful sweet pot," Drear chuckled. "A little too sweet, maybe. What is it you get out of this merger, eh?"
"Freedom," Flint said. "I answer to no one but you. I rule as a lord, equal to any other."
Drear's rusted eyes flicked to Tai Si. "And you'll vouch for the Butcher, will you? Ah, but will you serve him?"
"I owe sa jia to Flint Skovik - a debt I can never satisfy," she said solemnly. "I vow my service to him. I sail in his flotilla."
The pirate king smiled a slow, wicked smile.
"Well then," he said after a long moment. "You're going to need a proper ship, then, aren't you?"