I couldn’t imagine living so close to the water day to day. There’s a good chance my short career as a sailor had affected the way I perceive the vast blue, but constant sloshing and crashing sounds along with the salty smell and damp air, just made me feel uneasy. On the brightside though, mine and Knives' journey to get some lunch brought us further inland to the city, where air was slightly more arid, no doubt due to the many smoke stalls of the food market.
Once again, my Direhawk friend took on the burden of the shield high above me. He was close enough to be visible to me, but out of sight of anyone who wasn’t constantly looking up at the sky, despite the brilliant sheen of the shield’s face catching the mid afternoon sun. The streets got narrower, and I found myself more wary of pickpockets as I kept both hands in the main compartments of my captain’s coat. It was an attention-grabbing bit of attire but with so much foot traffic, it didn’t amount to more than the odd 2 second glance from the local rabble.
The salivating smell of smoked Shallowfish hit me like a well timed counter punch, and I snapped my mouth shut to avoid drooling (with Knives no doubt feeling the same). I approached the stall with the shortest line and let my eyes wander about the public. Making note of all the most dangerous looking individuals who I could imagine serving on a boat…well my boat. My mind flashed back to the crew role list and I wondered if any of the scurry lot had the skills to be a ‘powder-monkey’ or whatever. Most burly, tattooed looking humans who looked like they shared one limited vocabulary between them. There was a few halflings who I could imagine scrubbing an engine (but not much else) and a bespectacled dwarf in a shiny waistcoat who looked like he would repair a ship by throwing gold at it.
By the time I was in line to purchase a rack of fat fish skewers I had already made the decision; anyone who worked aboard a ship I was the captain of would have to be at the top of the line. I wouldn’t settle for any less.
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I never thought of Knives as an animal, a non human creature, sure. But a dignified one. However there was nothing dignified about the way he ravenously devoured juicy skewered fish I just purchased. He was very much an animal at that moment, and by the way I was snacking away next to him, I wasn’t too far off.
We had found a quieter street a few minutes away from the food market to sit down and eat. A brass, chest-high rectangular mailbox served as a more than adequate seat as well as a source of nostalgia for my lost beloved career, with knives at one side and the shield at the other. As much as I felt exposed and wary of my new surroundings, the mid size buildings and smell of steam powered technology brought me the closest to ‘home’ I’d been since I was forced to set sail. My mind wandered to naive places, and for longer than I’d admit to anyone I considered if it would really be so bad to root down here in Karsland and stay here.
“Watch it, Tramp.” Was all the warning I got from an inhumanly gravelly voice, before my hunched legs on the high curb of the street were rudely kicked aside. The force almost tipped me over from my sitting position and I instinctively shot to my feet. But even at my full standing height the owner of the rude gesture stood a head and a half taller than me, and was covered in finely stitched leather and brass armour, head to toe. The figure didn’t even acknowledge me proper until Knives let out an angry shriek on my behalf.
“I said to watch ya fucking…hang on-”
The figure was in full view and the physique made full sense. The individual before me was a half-orc. His skin tone was something between light brown and pale green and was covered in heavily veined muscles especially around the neck area. His face was a disturbingly intricate mix of human and orc features, the most striking being his pronounced underbite which only half covered a lower set of large bluntly pointed teeth. To match his expensive armour he was casually holding a heavy brass mace with a four-pronged head. It looked heavy enough to turn my face into fish food, my hand was already reaching for the shield.
“Wos that bit o’ gold you got there, mate?” the half-orc asked with a ping of interest in his yellowed eyes. “Looks a bit pricey for a tramp.”
“I could say the same about that armour, Toothy. Now why don’t you keep on?” I retorted with immediate regret. My smart mouth had both got me in and out of trouble my entire life but far more in the former. But something about this lump of brawn just rubbed me the wrong way, I wanted to wind him up for ruining my snack break.
Luckily or unlikely, I got my wish as the bruiser's face contorted into something like a wounded snarl, which gave away the effect my words had on him.
“This…mah suit is worth more than th’ life of you and yor little pet chicken. My employer spares no expense on weapons, armour or talent and you’re about to find out why.”
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He took a clear battle stance with his tree-trunk-like legs shifting wide, and the crease of his leather cuirass squeaked under the stress under his thick arm raising his mace. I had managed to hook my fingers into my shield’s hand strap while I was talking shit and swung it round to my front to protect me. As I heard Knives' mighty wings propel him into the sky, I once again had to put my faith in this strange device to save my life from another aggressor. But my brace for impact was for nothing, the mace strike never came. It was only when I peeked from behind the shield I saw why.
The Half-Orc was frozen, as if he was stabbed with a manticore dart. But his yellowed eyes were moving, they were wide and cautious as if he just broke a holy tenant in a religion I didn’t know about. But the source of his sudden halt was not something as celestial. It was simply a man, but a man that was so well dressed it had to be the employer of this over-equipped brute. His long royal blue coat almost covered his entire body and his shoulders were draped with silver-grey sash. He had ‘frozen’ the orc with a dismissive turn of his hand, and walked closer as he spoke.
“Retland. We had a very long discussion about keeping a ‘low profile’ that I fear I’ll have to repeat. Why are you starting fights with the Karsland rabble?”
I was technically thankful that this posh twat prevented a fight from starting, but I took offence at being called rabble.
“E..E woz standing in my way, nearly tripped me up, Ser.” The Half-Orc ‘Retland’ responded.
“Then walk around him, you’re making me regret spending so much on your armour, a bodyguard should be agile an-” The man spoke with one of the most infuriatingly dismissive tones I had ever endured. But something about the voice and accent caught my attention.
“Hold on,” I interrupted him, squinting my eyes. “I know that voice…”
The man stopped and finally looked at me. His ice blue eyes narrowed at me. First he looked pissed that I spoke over him, but then there was a look of mildly disturbed shock as he took in a long glance. “No…not a chance,” He uttered with a less confident tongue.
“Angelott.” I stated bluntly.
“Kingsley.” He responded.
Lionel Estimer Angelott was a classmate of mine. There was no grand narrative between us, but a lot of natural animosity. He was the 2nd richest boy at my academy, I was the 2nd poorest. I had a lot to prove academically and he had a lot to prove martially. I remember at least two fist fights and an ungodly amount of verbal sparring and taunting. Any who observed us might think we loved to hate each other, like perfect rivals. But I didn’t hate him. Like bad vinegar or off-key singing, I just did not like him very much.
“You know this urchin, M’lord?’ The lanky cutthroat grumbled, taking a measured step back to block any path to his employer.
“Casper the carrier, we went to the same academy in Estoc. Dingy little town, but offered studies in some rare disciplines that my father insisted on.” Lionel spoke as if even mentioning my home town put a bad taste in his mouth, trying to spit out the words before they spent too long on his tongue.
“Did your father insist on Karsland too? It’s just as dingy as Estoc.” I wanted the words to sting.
“I’m here on business, not that it’s any of yours of course. But it’s promising to see you’ve moved on to handling holder-falcons instead of carrier sparrows. Though I imagine the smell of bird-shit isn’t any easier to stave off.”
“He’s a Direhawk, and I never handled sparrows…they were pigeons.” I could feel the fire in my stomach.
“Sparrows, Pigeons, Parrots, all rodents with feathers. But the profession suits you.” Lionel’s smile went to the next level of smug. “It suits you far more than having your head caved in by my security in some mouldy alleyway. Try to keep a wide berth from anyone in armour, I might not be here next time.”
“You said it yourself, Lionel. You’re here on business in this very mouldy alley. I just stopped here for lunch,” I quipped jovially as I held up my grilled fish and Knives cawed loudly.
Lionel’s insufferable smirk curled into a scoff as his flashing eyes began to darken with annoyance. When his lips parted I was anticipating a razor sharp comeback to meet my own, but he only let out a small sigh. In a hand motion which was almost quicker than my eye, he pulled out a blindingly sheen pocket watch and scrutinised it scornfully.
“We are behind schedule, and we still haven't found her. We will return later.” Lionel completely ignored me to address Retland and the large enforcer immediately sheathed his mace and turned to leave with his employer.
“Girl trouble?” I asked mockingly as he turned on his heel to leave.
“Teacher trouble…one that you’d definitely remember from the academy, Kingsley. But don’t let that distract you from fishsticks and late postage.”
As I geared up my brain to counter, he was already gone. I’d never admit it to him or anyone out loud, but he was probably the fastest human I’d ever seen. His pampered upbringing did nothing to diminish his natural speed and agility, something I learned the hard way when we first traded blows at age 15. Knives cawed loudly as if to offer me some encouragement and gently prodded me with his beak to pass him another skewer.
It was only when I snapped my way down to the final stick did Lionel’s parting sentence actually register with me. He said ‘teacher trouble’, one that I’d remember. It took me a second to figure it out because I remember all my teachers, it wasn’t that long ago after all. But his only motive to bring up the academy would be to tease or insult me, and with that realisation, it became all too clear.
“Ms Nasaela Wynte,” I said out loud to Knives, who stopped eating momentarily to lift his head to listen. “She was our geography teacher, and…well she was pretty hard to forget.”
Knives turned his head in slight confusion before letting out a small cry which sounded like a laugh.
“Yeah she was the first elf I ever saw, and I can speak for every teenage boy and probably some of the girls that she left an impression on that academy.” I matched Knives with a chuckle of my own before taking my final bite. I felt far too embarrassed to go into detail to a direhawk about my adolescent desires, but her image immediately formed into my head, clear as day.
"She…was from Ispar. You know the cold region where the snow-falcons live? There is a mainly elven civilization there. She fled there during some conflict. Why she came to Estoc instead of the capital I'll never know, but I was glad she did…and now she's…here…"
I wiped my hands off on my still damp shirt and rose to my feet. There was a lot to process in one day and I still was no further along in my 'crew' recruitment. I was starting to think maybe that task was impossible in a creaky port town like Karlsand.
"Maybe we don't need a crew, me and you can figure out a ship by ourselves."
Knives shrieked out a laughing caw and we headed back into town. Neither one of us had to say it but we were still pretty hungry.