Gwynek (prime)/A Pirate's Life
“aht’s bait.” Trams croaked in her raspy, thin voice. Tender thought it an odd fit for a lass her size, but giantkin were full of surprises. “Reckon?” Maths were never Tender’s strong suit. When confronted with an assessment of risk versus reward, he focused strictly on the reward - which is how he wound up as crew on The Discourteous Squid. Chasing schemes to get silvers got him neck deep in debt, and faced with the choice of having every limb broken and getting drowned in the Locksmehr by Indrif the Flick, or a brief stint at sea to fatten his purse with ill-gotten gains… well, some choices make themselves.
“Mmm,” Trams spat over the railing. She was an old salt, always going on about the lad she’d get back to in Solhaven - some milksop softling what fancied himself a poet. “Buy him a ring, make ‘em mine,” she’d mutter after her share of rum. Everyone knew she was full of dung - she, like the rest of the crew, were killers. The only thing she wanted to do after a romp with her lad was to get back to sea and spill blood. Tender liked her though. She was good in a scrape and her bellow could drop the court-cull merchants and twigs they’d been looting to their knees. “Think the Captain will go fer it?”
Trams cleared her throat and spat again. “Aye - he’s a brick.”
Tender wondered if she’d eventually hock up whatever was stuck in her throat that made her voice odd. Maybe she had a point. Magenta was a queer color to paint a vessel - Captain or skipper what did that either wanted a fight, or was too much a fool to know it’d draw attention. “Sure, it’s an odd lot, but odd don’t make it no trap.”
“T’aint going nowhere.”
“Well - maybe the daft folk what go around sailing a purple ship forgot water and died of thirst.” Risk and reward lessons Tender never learned.
Trams clucked her tongue. “Think it’s one o’ them Talon lot.”
“Pffft.” Tender waved his hand. The Gilded Talon Consortium was the latest tall tale swapped between crews. Fancy, powerful elves banding together as privateers, each one possessing terrifying martial prowess or mystical powers. “That’s just a rumor some coves be spoutin’ to spook the competition. ‘Sides - you think one ‘em nobby elves Captain somethin’ like that?”
She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “Yer dumb, even fer a lummox.”
Tender made a rude gesture and grinned. “Aye, and yer…”
“Helm’a-lee! Cap’n says we got a prize!” Larkit Blushing bellowed from the Crow’s nest.
“Charl’s Salty Teeth,” Trams muttered before hopping to. Tender followed.
“Huh.” Larkit Blushing kept looking through the glass. “Wot? Lemme see.” Clever yanked the glass from the halfling’s grasp. Their prize had turned toward the squid, and its sails billowed with a sudden wind. He wanted to know what crop of fools thought their sloop could take on The Discourteous Squid. “Oi! Manners!” Larkit Blushing punched Clever in the arm. Clever ignored him and looked through the spyglass. “Huh.” “Told you.” Being at sea for a long while could make your senses do funny things. Hear the voice of friend and family hundreds of leagues away, see islands that aren’t there, or smell freshly baked bread when the only scent on the air was brine. Usually, checking in with your mates would set things straight. “Am I hearing My Sweet Liezadaria, or have I gone crackers?” You might ask, and your mate would say, “You’ve gone crackers. Have some grog.” Clever wanted to be sure to be sure. “Is that?” “A mad bastard? Aye. That’s what I conjure.” Standing at the prow of the magenta sloop was a small figure. They wore a strange hat, like something a wizard or a witch might sport if they were insistent on making sure everyone knew what they were about. Their black longcloak was adorned with raven or crow feathers, and it whipped behind them dramatically, revealing their lithe, almost delicate build. They wore a kilt and some leather armor that had seen better days. Clever had seen adventurers before, so the extravagant outfit wasn’t a surprise. The surprise was in the black wooden raven mask the mad bastard wore, with its beak that gleamed in the sun, along with two violet gems set in its eyes. In their arms they held bagpipes - the ebony mouthpiece extending up and beneath the edge of the mask. “Are they playing the bagpipes?” “Aye.” Clever rubbed at his eyes and looked through the glass again. “Alone?” “Aye.” “Dressed like a maggie pie?” “It’s magpie ya idjit - and, aye.” “Huh.” A barrage of cannon fire sent up a cloud of smoke accompanied by the sounds of impact - wood snapping and shattering. “Still there?” Clever detected a note of fear in Larkit Blushing’s voice. They remained at the prow as the slightly damaged sloop sailed nearer, still playing the bagpipes even as their leg bled from the hunk of shrapnel in their thigh. Clever’s mouth went dry. “Aye.”
“Heave-ho, ya lubbers!” Trams cried out. With their grapnels and lines deployed, the crew made short work pulling in the sloop. The mysterious figure at the prow had vanished - either below decks, or into the captain’s quarters. “It’s a trap.” She repeated to Tender. “A trap with just one little elf?” Tender shot back, “Even if it is, there’s near two score of us. She, or he, or whatever they are, can’t take us all.” Tramdalia of the Maermil clan seldom regretted the decisions she’d made in life, yet the sinking feeling snaking through her guts and into her limbs made her regret the decision to ever set foot on a ship deck. “Fish ‘em out!” her captain roared. The crew scrambled to ready the cannons. Trams covered her ears. “Fire!” The sound was impossibly loud. The brigantine rocked. Wood splintered and surrendered to the sudden violence of the barrage. “Weapons!” Trams called out amid the cloud of smoke and scents of sulfur. The sound of a single set of boots thudding on the boards followed the thud of a gangplank. The smoke cleared, and there they stood - all in blacks, greys, and purples. Above the rim of a large, round metal shield peeked the violet sapphire eyes of the raven mask. The thin tips of their pointy ears betraying their species. In their right hand, they held a sword that seemed entirely too large for them. Tender laughed. “Look at this fop. Easy as sleep e’ll be - just you see Trams.” He moved into flank the little elf with one of the greener crew she never learned the name of. “Come ‘ere you -” The elf stomped their foot on the deck, sending out a shockwave of force that bowled Tender and the other crewman over. In a blink, they shifted into an offensive stance and swung the bastard sword in an arc that cleaved off Tender’s foot. Trams couldn’t even complete the thought to shout Tender’s name before the blade came down again and stove in his skull at his left temple. Tramdalia knew killing - trained her entire adult life to do it, and do it well. She’d opened countless men and women in her days of banditry and piracy, yet she’d never seen such rapid violence. The green lad stood up only for the elf’s bastard sword to lash out and shatter his femur. He went down with a scream that was silenced when his guts spilled in the wake of another deadly arc. The elf drew up into a defensive stance, humming a happy, meandering tune. The Crew of the Squid gawped - none of them eager to lead the next wave. The elf walked the boards towards the helm - turning their back and giving Clever and Larkit Blushing a chance to spring down from the rigging - two more crewmates rushed him from the front. Another stomp. Trams braced herself, but Clever, Larkit Blushing, and the others went down on their backs. Clever rolled to his feet immediately and swung his falchion at the small elf’s back. They flickered from existence for a moment before reappearing, facing Clever with their shield up. He grunted with surprise as his blade struck the elf’s aegis rather than their flesh. The witch elf - for what could the slaughter be other than witchery - answered with a riposte. The air around Clever’s neck fluctuated and shimmered even as the blade arced toward him. With a pop, the blood vessels in his neck ruptured just as his sword arm was severed. Clever’s arm, still grasping his falchion, hit the deck while a riotous swirl of green energy taking the shape of many ravens snaked up the Elf’s blade, grabbing at Clever and knocking him to the ground. Trams looked away. Knowing what came next made the crunching sound no less sickening. To think of the times she’d howled with laughter while she and the crew visited the same violence on merchants, or whoever was unlucky enough to cross their path. Being on the receiving end proved was monstrous thing to swallow, to endure... to suffer. She screwed her eyes shut. More screams, each cut short, punctuated by the sounds of men and women being made into meat. Trams drew in deep breaths, girding herself to attack the strange elf wielding a magical sword. She gripped her hand axe and noticed how sweaty her palms had become. They stood there amid four bodies in various states of dismemberment, humming a different meandering tune. After a glance about the deck, they rocked back on their heels and straightened their hat. They seemed almost innocent in that moment - naïve and glad-hearted. “Sweet mercy of Mularos.” Tramdalia thought about her lover in Solhaven - how she always promised him a ring. Thought about how she’d never hold him again, or how she would never hear his silly little poems. She would stand at the Ebon Gate, and would have nothing to show the Lady of Winter but empty promises and a trail of suffering and murder leagues long. They turned their bejeweled gaze to her, shifted their grip on the handle of the sword, and casually strode toward her. Three more crewmates rushed the elf. She knew what came next and couldn’t bear to see it. Tramdalia walked to the railing of the Squid’s main deck, leaving terror at her back. At least she stood a small chance with the sea. She leapt into the sea of mists and swam towards the coast, swearing to every God and spirit she could name of her life would be on land - how she would spend every moment in penance for her misdeeds. And on she swam as the Squid burned behind her. And on she swam, swearing to Charl to never darken his waters again, if only in his grace he would deliver her to land.