View Full Version : Second Stop on the Adventure train
The frozen air blew through the sails carrying the Caravel Anansi forward through the northern waters. The same air that filled the sails threatened to ice Troy’s lungs and frost was already setting in on the steely eyed captain’s clothes. Since their departure from Radasanth he tried to keep a weather eye on the horizon when he could, in between trying to get to know his small crew a bit better, in betwixt the fingers on his right hand he held one of many knobs that jut from the helm’s wheel often finding himself day dreaming about fragmented memories of his parents, and the stories they told him of their travels. All was quiet on the ship, and considering they had a steady blow coming from the south-east that would pretty much carry them to port at Salvar he couldn’t complain much.
Figuring Elias and Maia were off taking care of their own problems, he made his way on to the deck. His movement was stiff, considering this would be the third day they were on this boat, and the second day they had to deal with this weather the best he could do to keep himself warm was dress in a tattered read cloak he found in the captains quarters. He was alone, standing arms at his sides on the deck, head angled up to look at the stars that seemed to wash every bit of doubt from his mind about if he could or could not be a decent captain of this vessel. However, the doubts didn’t surface from him not knowing what to do, far from it he knew his job and what it required, though he was more concerned about his judgment.
He had a lot of time to think about things like this between the passing greetings, confirmation of orders, and duties of the day. Once again though, his attention was grasped, as he looked forward to the horizon where he could almost make out a port of the continent Salvar. A trading place where he hoped to pick up a bit more muscle, or people of various trades and backgrounds, adjusting his tricorne on his head, he turned on his heel only to loose his footing to a small patch of frost and be sent to his bum. If anyone had been there to see it he knows they would have laughed, but he did enough laughing himself it was the first time he had done so in a while, and he almost forgot how good it felt. Gathering himself up off the wooden deck he brushed off his butt, and removed what ice clung to him back to the helm he went.
Hours later
Soon they were docked Troy handled the arrangements before he called his crew to the deck. Hopefully they would hear his call, because like times before he wouldn’t stand around to see their response after he made the call.
“All hands on deck! Maia, Elias man the Anansi while I’m gone if I tarry to long inland come find me.”
Troy jumped, from deck, to port landing on the wooden walkway that lead from ship to land. Cloak fluttered about him then it settled he pulled it tighter to confine and hide his garments under it. Head inclined forward, as he pushed the front corner of his hat back falling into a more relaxed swagger, rum clutched in his right hand as he took a swig walking the path around the docks. Nudged one way, so he ended up walking backwards curses slung through the air to the person who turned him about then he bumped into someone that was behind him. Talking with his eyes closed he said:
“You should watch where you’re-”
But as he saw it was a woman, he re-coiled half seeing his mother looking at him with narrowed eyes only because of the direction the sentence was going. Right foot took a defensive step backward, and his left hand struggled to hide the rum behind his back.
“Ignore that first part” He said in a rushed out of breath tone. “Apologize for bumping into you.” Throw in a smile, throw in a smile he said as he mentally scolded himself; his lips curled into smile.
Bingo!
Of all the places she'd had to get bored of her last ship and captain, it had HAD to be Salvar. And it was cold out. The half-Mer wench was dressed in all three of her shirts, as well as wearing her skirt over her pants, and it was still a bit chilly out. Still, she was a child of the sea. She'd be back on a boat by sundown, and sailing off -- somewhere warmer, hopefully, but on a boat she'd be more than at home.
She walked along the docks, at the edge where wooden piers met cobblestone. To one side was the sea, and to the other side rose the buildings of the Salvic port town. She turned when she reached the edge of the docks, going back to see if any new, more interesting ships had docked, rather than blowing all her money on some warming alcohol just yet. She'd survive...her hair was long and loose at the moment, so it would keep her head warm while her clothes insulated her body. She held her spear in one hand, while carrying her twin harpoons on her back -- easy to grab if she needed them.
Suddenly, an oaf bumped into her, spinning her to the side, and Siren's eyes darkened as he started addressing her crossly. Then he opened his eyes, and his whole demeanor changed. Apparently some women still took the time to raise their sons correctly. Either that, or a woman with a spear did not look like someone he should irritate.
The half-mer's eyes lightened back to the gray color of the snow-bearing clouds, and she looked at the man, calmly, cooly. There was something not human about him, she could almost hear it -- the natural song of the sea that seemed to flow around her mother's people. Instead of responding to him in human tongue, she spoke in a series of whistles and clicks, then switched languages to dolphin, in case he didn't speak porpoise. Both times she said the same thing.
"You should never go with both eyes closed."
From a cold ship, to a cold land, to a woman that spoke a language that he heard before but barely understood. What a grand day he was having, he knew his outward expression conveyed his mental confusion, he was just trying to figure out if this woman was a complete loon, or if he should be trying to get his foot out of his mouth for not paying attention when the Merfolk were trying to actually teach him something on one of those long summer days. Of course he came to the conclusion that it was the latter of the two, and he was undoubtedly dumbfounded. Though Troy could see the sea in her eyes which was definitely calming so maybe she won’t skin him alive- so he took this time that would have been used for a response to look her over. Noting the double harpoons on her back, and the spear at her side seemingly ready to attack at a moments notice; he decided to weigh his words carefully.
“I have no idea what you just said, but I feel like I should.” He spoke a part of him still mesmerized, his tone was almost like a far away whisper that was being drowned out by the waves crashing against jagged rocks. Mentally jogging himself “awake” he pressed the butt of his palm against his forehead then unconsciously handed her the bottle of rum in his right hand.
“However,” He began slowly “in light of my present situation, if you know your way around this town, could you show me where the local pub is? And by the way, what brings you here?”
Weight teetered on to his right side, putting him at an angle with his hand still extended with the offer of rum. Hopefully he didn’t make much of an ass of himself and he could save a small amount of face with his offering of rum, and out right honesty.
His bewilderment marked him as merely human...she'd made a mistake. As she started to turn away, disgusted, he started to speak, and she heard it in his voice, the rushing of the tide against the rocks. She hadn't been mistaken. He just hadn't learned the tongues.
She took the offered bottle of rum, listening to him speak as she swallowed a mouthful of the burningly sweet liquid. She handed it back before regarding him again, her eyes shifting through blues and greens before settling back to silver-gray. When finally she spoke, her voice lacked much of the same oceanic quality that his had -- her mer attributes were mostly physical...but her voice was still musical and sweet, almost entrancing.
"I know this port only in passing, I have been here few times. I seek a new ship and crew for a time, until the currents shift again. Ten years I've been aboard ships and boats of varying sizes...before that...well, you come from the same situation."
So rare that two half-mer met...and all this idiot wanted to do was drink himself into a stupor. Very well, he was allowed. There were days she'd wanted the same...the very same.
"Come, I will show you the pub."
She brushed on past him, her hair billowing out behind her like the brightly colored algae did in the reef, and started leading him through the frosty cobblestone streets until they came to a squat building with a large door. The sign above it featured a rotund middle-aged man with a wide grin, holding up an overflowing tankard. The lettering was long-since faded away, but the establishment's name was still well-known by its patrons.
"Taking averages...this pub has decent food and drink at a decent price. It is known among locals as 'The Jolly Old Man,' and the only better ones are much more expensive."
Her tone was cold like the weather...for now. She knew as well as anyone that nothing lasted for her kind, mood wise. Not for too long, unless caught in a hurricane or a doldrums.
This woman was different he noticed from the moment he looked into those eyes, and heard that voice. As she took the rum from his hands and had her fill while she listened to him drivel on. But soon after she spoke, and he listened, it was remarkable how her voice held so much sway over his mood; from embarrassed to relax in less than sixty seconds. Lips curled, and his fingers curled into fists from excitement hanging on to her each and every word.
"I know this port only in passing; I have been here few times. I seek a new ship and crew for a time, until the currents shift again. Ten years I've been aboard ships and boats of varying sizes...before that...well, you come from the same situation. Come, I will show you the pub."
He thought about the last part of the sentence, as they walked it rang out in his head like someone just struck a bell. Eyebrows furrowed, as he fell into a moment of deep thought before it clicked, before he was taken in, before he even knew the sea for the beauty that she is he was with the Merfolk. However, they told him that his kin was birthed every three years or so…which would make her older or younger which was hard to tell, but it was improper to ask a woman her age.
Earlier than he expected she was stopped in front of a building that looked much like its rundown counter parts in various other cities. It was almost welcoming, taking a deep whiff of the linger smell of rum and smoke that came from within, he looked back at her.
“Want to come in for a drink, and probably some food? My treat, and we can possibly discuss you staying on my ship and maybe helping me recruit others.”
While she was slightly surprised that the boy had a ship of his own, she wasn't surprised that he was a sailor. Merfolk had a need to be involved with the sea, even if they were only halfbreeds. She had no real reason to turn him down, even though he hadn't thus far made a great impression. But it only took a moment of consideration before she shrugged and preceded him into the tavern. At best, it was a free drink (or meal) and a way off the damn ice block that was Salvar. At worst, it was a free drink.
"Very well, I accept your invitation to a drink. However...I do have a policy before drinking with strangers...namely being that I do not drink with strangers."
She motioned him to a fairly clean oaken table about midway between the center of the room and a wall. At a tavern like this, you didn't want to be near the center -- the most likely place for raucous troublemakers and brawlers -- but you also did not want to be at the shady corners of the room -- home to disreputable types. Right now business was neither slow nor busy, making it a perfect time at the tavern.
She took her seat and regarded the other patrons of the establishment for a few moments: a few big guys, a couple of shady characters, some land-based travelers, but mostly sailors like herself and her current companion. It was a nice, homey place (at least, as far as any place on land could be), and she relaxed, leaning back into her chair.
"So...strange person that's a sailor and of my same race...I go by Siren or any variation of such. To what do you respond, misnomer or no?"
She studied him, or was studying him during their time together, and likewise he sized her up against some of the other female sailors he had seen namely his mother. Even when he mentioned treating her to food and drink she seemed a bit hesitant—which wasn’t at all a bad thing mind you. But eventually she divulged her reasons why and even came around to take him up on the offer. He couldn’t hide his grin, not matter how hard he tried to suppress it so he just went inside after her.
As he walked through the door, his eyes were already scanning the crowd for prospects to fill the spots on his ship. The overall prediction seemed good, which meant a lot considering a lot of the folks here varied in size, demeanor, and outward intelligence though there was something missing. Almost as if he were overlooking someone or something, and him being here was almost premature. Nevertheless he was here now, and sitting at a table that was not the center of attention, nor was it on the outskirts an interesting spot that allowed him to view everyone that passed through the threshold, while still keeping conversation with Siren, was that her name?
“I go by Siren or any variation of such. To what do you respond, misnomer or no?"
Yeah it was Siren “A beautiful name…” he remarked as he thought about his own less melodious title “Mine is…Troy, Troy Pearson but you can call me Crow if you like. Its not as creative, but it gets the job done I suppose?” He chuckled as he reclined back in his chair, motioning his right hand to a waitress who soon came over to deal with them.
“What’ll it be folks?”
Ladies First.
Green is the new black.
06-08-07, 04:31 PM
So much noise.
A particularly ill-tempered green-skin sat in the traditional corner of the pub, otherwise known as the “don’t bother me” spot. Ironically, it was that very corner that was most often disturbed. Apparently, adventurers somehow got the impression that such mythical corners were home to dark, interesting people with valuable information. Boy, would they be disappointed to find an irritable half-Orc occupying that spot.
It had been three weeks since Orun had left the vast wildness of central Salvar, since he and his half-Elvan friend had gone their separate ways. In hindsight, he should have just stayed out in the middle of nowhere. Sure, it was cold, made simple survival difficult, and was generally unpleasant, but at least it was quiet. This bar was little more than an entire town’s supply of pick-pockets, cut-purses, idiots, and whores, all mashed together in a shallow, drunken stupor. A loud, shallow, drunken stupor.
Why did he even come in this place? It was destined only to get on his nerves and give him a headache. The air was stuffy and hot, and smelled of vomit and sweat. It was noisy and boring at the same time. He sighed and grumbled miserably under his breath.
It was then at a narrow-waisted barmaid with full, red lips, and more than her share of cleavage walked up to his table and set a mug down in front of him. The half-Orc eyed her for a moment and smiled as she walked away. He picked up his mug and let the golden liquid pour down his throat. Ah yes, that was the reason that he was there. Beer.
Siren turned to the wench as she offered to take their orders, sizing her up. She was just a city girl, waiting tables to get a little money of her own. Not a salty sea-girl at all, so Siren just grinned at her.
"Brandy, straight up."
She then turned back to the brash young man before her, looking at him cooly through eyes that had taken on a violet tinge. A captain of a vessel would go by "Crow?" She'd have thought he knew better.
"Troy will work fine. Not only do you not look like a crow, it's bad luck to speak the word while at sea. Harbinges death, you know."
She looked around the tavern, at the various drunks and revelers. Not a one interesting in the lot of them, although there was one unique fellow -- a man sitting in a shady corner with more than just a touch of Orc blood. Siren had worked with Orcs before...and while the tended to be slow, they were strong and would tend their ropes well enough once they'd learned them. Her glance was fleeting, though, and she looked back across the table to Troy.
"Don't lie to me...are you really some sort of greenhorn that wants a boat, or do you know your ropes and currents? For I'll not ever consider sailing with an unfit captain."
There go those eyes again, as if she were sizing the waitress up before she even placed her order. It was sort of odd, but at the same time who was he to complain? She placed her order, and returned her gaze to him; half of his gaze was turned to the rear of the waitress as she sauntered off. It was good she understood that his silence meant he wasn’t ordering anything. The knuckles of his hands brushed against the table making two soft knocks, before returning to conversation with Siren.
"Troy will work fine. Not only do you not look like a crow, it's bad luck to speak the word while at sea. Harbingers death, you know."
Weight shifted, so that his right hand dangled off the back of his chair, the index finger of is left hand pushed the frontal corner of his hat upwards slightly. A smile brandished across his face looking at her in the eyes. It was maddening he could see the doubt lingering in every comment she made, and each metaphorical dagger made a small incision. Troy watched her gaze linger, off to a corner behind him, lovely he was at such a disadvantage, because she could be signaling for him to be roughed up; but hopefully not.
"Don't lie to me...are you really some sort of greenhorn that wants a boat, or do you know your ropes and currents? For I'll not ever consider sailing with an unfit captain."
“I’ve grown up at sea, and yes I am a captain, but if you can’t take my word for it, then I suppose there is no need for you to sail with us is there?”
Green is the new black.
06-13-07, 01:27 PM
Orun continued to sit quietly in “his” corner. He could feel scrutinizing eyes upon him, but he scarcely cared. He was used to being stared everywhere he went, as though he were a circus freak. The beer was more than worth enduring that little irritation, of course. At least the barmaid was polite, probably out of fear that the half-Orc would break something if she wasn’t.
He took a long swig of the frothy golden liquid and breathed in the air of the tavern. It was notably different from the various drinking holes on the frontier. It was more diverse and less familiar. Being so close to a port, more of the customers were strangers and travelers, as opposed to regulars. It also smelled like the sea, as opposed to the distinct scent of pine-covered mountains. It was noisier as well, of course. On the brighter side, the beer was better.
It didn’t take long for Orun to fall right back into his old habits of eavesdropping on the surrounding conversations. Most were mindlessly boring, such as patrons talking about who was who’s lover and barmaids complaining about their wages. The half-Orc groaned; he might as well be listening to the chatter and braying of farm animals.
And then, hope of something interesting reached his ears from an off-center table. Two people, a man and a woman, were discussing some sort of sailing arrangement. The tan, brown haired man was clearly looking for crew for his ship. Orun could recognize the tone and style of speech; it was very similar to the attempts of trail-blazers, mountaineers, and mercenaries of the wilderness to recruit help for various exhibitions. This man, however, came off as a bit of an amateur to the half-Orc as he tried to recruit a particularly stern looking woman. Perhaps the man did know what he was doing, perhaps he didn’t. His delivery, however, was brash and lacked real confidence. He wasn’t truly addressing the issue of his ability, as was being asked by his potential recruit. Finally, frustrated with merely listening in, Orun stood up and strolled over to the pair, tapping the would-be captain on the shoulder.
"I think you must have more salt than brains,” said Orun in a grumbling, yet surprisingly articulate voice. “She didn’t ask where you grew up, or if you consider yourself a captain or not; she asked whether you're half-way competent or not. Of course, I think the answer is becoming obvious." The half-Orc folded his arms and glared down at the sailor, his lean, muscular frame casting its shadow over him.
The first indication that the conversation would be interrupted was the dead silence that seemed to fill the tavern as a particular green-skinned figure stalked toward the table. Siren raised an eyebrow as the half-orc approached them, but this quickly turned to a grin as she heard what he had to say. FINALLY, someone who knew the difference between merely BEING something and being GOOD at it.
"Oooh...I like you. Hang around, we might have to chat."
Flashing the half-orc another grin, the twenty-three year-old half-mer turned back to Troy, her expression changing from a mirthful grin back to unimpressed.
"Like the man said...I asked neither whether you had ship nor crew, or if you were the one nominally in charge. What I asked is if you knew the ropes, and also if your crew knows the ropes. I want to know if you spend more time sailing or drinking and taking wenches to bed. I want to know if your crew is experienced, or if a bunch of salt-louse infested monkeys could run a tighter ship. On the sea, you don't 'take someone's word' that they're a good sailor. In a hurricane, a fool that pretended to be wise would piss himself all over and then pray to whatever god or goddess he thinks will save him. If you can't prove your worth as a captain to me, there's really no need for me to sail with you, is there?"
She set her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together, resting her chin on the small depression between her hands. A smirk flashed across her face as a poker term came to mind.
Call.
Troy's turn.
Green is the new black.
07-29-07, 10:13 PM
Due to a long stretch of inactivity from Troy with no word at all, we are moving on without him to set the beginning of the Orun/Siren storyline.
A moment of annoying silence passed. The sailor in question, seemingly stunned by the woman’s harshness and the appearance of an equally harsh half-Orc, hesitated for several moments. This turned out to be more than a moment too long.
Folded. And it was Orun’s turn once again.
Now that he was able to get a closer look at the woman, he realized that the distance didn’t do her as much justice. She was certainly as beautiful as any woman he’d seen, if not more so, and twice as alluring. Assuming one was into that sort of thing, which he’d convinced himself long ago that he wasn’t.
Yet, she addressed him with something free of racist scorn… something akin to respect. The last time that had happened, the words had come from an intoxicated whore out to earn some coins. This woman, however, was definitely not a spineless prostitute. Perhaps she was the type of business partner that he’d been searching for.
“Let’s take our business elsewhere,” said Orun to the woman, before casting a gaze of malevolent pity at the recruiter. “There’s no sense in either of us wasting our time here.”
Raise.
Siren finished the mouthful of brandy in her glass before answering the half-orc, letting the semi-sweet liquid burn its way down her throat as her neutral silver eyes turned an annoyed emerald at Troy's helpless looks. Apparently it was his first time to try and recruit a real sailor, and Siren didn't have time for that sort of thing.
Standing, she addressed Troy first.
"Sorry, hun, but I don't think I'm interested in your offer, after all. Thanks for the drink."
She then turned to Orun, cocking a hip as she sized up the tall half-blood. He looked about as big and mean as other Orcs she'd seen along her travels, but his eyes had an intelligence to them, and she could tell a sharp wit when she heard one. Maybe, if he had business for her, this could turn an otherwise irritating day profitable.
And if he has 'business' for me, it could at least be fun. Not much of a face...but what a body.
Her eyes took on a blue-violet tinge and a grin flitted across her full lips as she leaned a hand on the table, looking at Orun past the now-forgotten Troy. "No sense in wasting time...so do lead on."
Match.
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