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Lice covered black chimpanzee be hangin’ from a cannabis tree
Nutmegs black as tea be danglin’ beneath a black schlong facing a banshee.
A wicked man, in his wicked ways, be doing wicked things
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Lewd pirate shanty
Unknown date
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Wayland ‘Yellow’ Dawson
‘The Corsair of Ducuril’
The Sinking Isles
Part III
-The Corsair of Ducuril-
Episodes D through G
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[https://i.postimg.cc/B6zHN1Dz/Sinking-Isles-II-94.jpg]
Episode D
-A night on the lake-
Velix and his family of three, two boys and a female were eating fish soup on their raft. The vessel impressive in size at twelve meters in length and width, with sturdy rails made out of wicker, crude cots and even tables with seats, shaded by a rattan roof that covered half of it. It was obvious Velix lived there as well.
“Yeah, it’s not a good time,” the boatman cut them off rudely immediately upon seeing them.
“What are you talking about Velix?” Minix asked him, waving at the Gish eating at the table.
“Bafix hasn’t reached a decision on them yet,” Velix replied, prominent pink brows raising. “He’s waiting for Silix to give his first so he can find the flaws in it. It will take time, but I’d like to hear his opinion afore I decide. Business is a-booming, so I need the rest.”
Sure, Dawson thought and glanced about the deserted shores, this being the wider part of the elongated lake, no wonder the crickets be havin’ a field day.
“Have you gone nuts you lazy chimp? They are here for days already and my father probably has no idea about them still. Bafix might have to wait another month or two!” Minix protested.
“Well, if that’s what it takes,” Velix said with a shrug and had some more of his soup, slurping at it loudly on purpose.
Dawson stared at Trifton and he reached for his cutlass. If they could not get him to cooperate, then they were just going to seize the ship… raft.
Whatever.
“Velix,” Minix purred and pulled his chair back and away from the table, showing surprising strength. Then she sat on his lap, Velix putting his wooden spoon down and placing his hand on her thigh.
“Minix,” he said somberly. “I’m sadly widowed of a partner dear, but willing to succumb to your ministrations.”
Dawson furrowed his brow and reached for Trifton’s sword himself, but his man stopped him.
“Velix,” Minix replied sugary. “Everyone knows Lucraix left you for the Knup boy. She’s living an exciting life.”
Velix scowled. “You don’t know that for sure!”
“They say he’s fit as a boar,” Minix whispered in his ear. “Tall as—”
“Boars ain’t that fit,” Velix grunted unhappy cutting her off. “You’re ruining my day for no reason Minix,” he warned her.
“Have a drink and forget about her,” she offered. “You know you deserve a break from work.”
“You brought me something?” Velix said snaking his hand further inside, but she jumped away lithely and fixed her short skirt quickly gyrating her hips and pulling it down. Everyone paying close attention to her technique. ‘Lucky’ Trifton’s pursed lips and squinting eyes mimicked by young Vitrix comically.
“Rum,” Minix said. “He did.”
“Is it better than grape juice?”
“Are you serious? It’s clean as water for starters and not smelling of feet!” Minix protested.
Ugh, Dawson thought troubled at the detail.
Velix eyed Dawson seeing where this was going. “What do you want in exchange?”
“What I was going to ask for earlier. Take us across and wait to bring us back,” Dawson replied and tossed him Trifton’s flask. “I be wanting the flask back,” he added.
Velix opened the cork and sniffed at the contents. Kept sniffing at it engrossed, until Minix smacked his leg once to snap him out of it.
“No piss or shit aboard,” Velix warned standing up. “Use the lake.”
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They spend the night on the raft, Velix watching his remaining family rowing them slowly across the peaceful lake’s waters whilst sipping at Trifton’s rum. Brackish, but drinkable, Minix had informed them, but Zander who had a mouthful, burped loudly after swallowing and advised them not to fill their water flasks.
Dawson sat on a bench at the edge of the raft and watched the stars on the sky trying to spot the differences. The moons out in force making the chilly, but not unpleasant night appear rather peaceful. The land itself as if frozen in time.
“Why are you visiting Terbville Isle?” Minix asked coming to sit next to him. She gathered her legs under her body, feeling all warm and nice smelling.
“Linx might do something stupid,” Dawson said and stared at her brother snorting next to a sleeping –and snorting- Trifton three meters away.
“Luscious Linx,” Minix purred. “Eolix was the prettiest Gish my father said,” she told him. “Her mother. Her sister as well. Much sought after. Abrakas rest her soul. I thought it an exaggeration, but her mother left them early also and that was a tragedy.”
“It’s not about that,” Dawson replied and Minix rest her head on his lap, her face turned towards him. “These people are not part of my crew.”
“These pirates,” Minix murmured teasingly.
“They are not pirates. They are mercenaries working for… a Bank,” Dawson explained.
“What’s that?”
“Eh… an institution that gathers the folks money.”
“What for?”
“Ah, to loan them back to the folk that need them?” Dawson replied.
“Why gather them in the first place then?” She asked, not understanding how it worked.
“I think ye got a point there me lass.”
“Will they not listen to you? You are a captain,” she said.
“That’s not how it works,” Dawson replied. “They might not harm her, but it is also very likely that they will.”
“Why?”
“It’s difficult to explain. It’s how the world works,” Dawson grimaced.
Those pearls will turn their heads the moment they see them.
“Pirates have come here afore, didn’t bother the Gish.”
“Most people haven’t seen a Gish in their life,” Dawson retorted. “Nor do they care about them. But they care about gold.”
“Do you?”
“You know what a pirate does right?”
“The Corsair lords had different characters,” Minix replied. “Silix says some were bad, others good. Desperate perhaps. Which one are you?”
“More a criminal I reckon,” Dawson replied. “Was Reinut bad?”
Minix frowned unsure. “Which one was he? Father will know.”
“The biggest of them all,” Dawson said surprised.
“Each vote counted the same in the Triarchy of the Issir,” Minix recited from memory. “Each city port offering parts to their name to form it. Ikete, Sessi and Irde.”
Dawson hadn’t heard this before and doubted Zander had despite being an Issir.
“Reinut created a kingdom, he called Kaltha,” he rustled.
“That sounds like the name of the country they came from. Kaletha,” Minix noticed puckering her mouth. “But it sort of makes sense, I guess. How did he get the others to step down willingly?” she asked and touched his face.
Don’t know about willingly.
But reckon the old fashioned way, was Dawson’s guess.
Made ‘em walk the plank.
“This part no one talks about either,” he admitted.
“Hmm. Is a criminal bad?”
“Well, what happens if a Gish is caught stealing?” Dawson asked.
“Gets a punch? Or you steal back from it,” Minix replied. “Who doesn’t steal? You find something you like and you take it. Don’t you steal from trees all the time?”
“That’s not as casually perceived on Jelin,” Dawson said and cupped her small hand with his.
“In what manner?”
“If ye get caught, you’ll get a flogging until yer skin falls off at the very least, or an arm chopped off. Killed even.”
Minix gasped in shock. “Why? What good comes of it?”
Dawson shrugged his shoulders. “You don’t punish folk here?”
“I told you.”
“What if a Gish kills another Gish?” Dawson asked.
“If it wasn’t justified, then he owes them a life. Cast out is what usually happens, or revenge from a family member, but then the cycle opens again. Of course there are always exceptions,” Minix replied. “What?”
“Who decides that? The Elders?”
“The rest of us. The Elders are advisors on life because they are old. Sure they are valued, but you won’t see anyone bowing afore my father, or keeping his hands away from his daughter,” Minix replied. “We are fascinated by lords, because we believe it is silly to elevate one above the others.”
Dawson stared at his hand, then in her face. Suddenly the absence of a prominent nose didn’t seem so odd. Living amongst them for a while, he had gotten used to their looks. There could be a time, he thought when each different species could find harmony together.
“Do you…” he cleared his throat and removed his hand. “Are you married?”
Minix blinked and then chuckled throatily.
“We think that silly as well, but to answer I’m free at this time.”
“As in now?”
“Yes Dawson,” Minix replied patiently.
“The place offers little privacy,” he murmured looking about. Their group sleeping, Velix passed out drunk and only the rowers still leisurely busy at work.
“What does…?” Minix pouted deep in thought. “You don’t find me attractive?”
“Eh… allgods, I do,” Dawson croaked anxiously.
“I’ve two grown children,” Minix added and raised her head up. “But it may be a while afore I’m in my year again. Is that yer concern?”
Dawson blinked still processing the kids part. “When you say grown…?”
She chuckled. “Abrakas toes!” Minix reached for his mouth, but failed and used her right hand to lower him towards her, grabbing at his collar. “I forgot this detail about humans haha. They are old enough to live away from me. You’ll be fine,” she gushed and kissed him.
Dawson felt her plump mouth on his and she tasted of lemons and whiskey, whilst burning up as if she had a fever. Monkey’s arse! He cursed when she stranded him fiercely.
“Wait,” he croaked, an eye on the rest of the raft’s crew not that far away from them.
“They don’t mind, we’re Gish,” Minix explained hoarsely.
Trifton and the rest ain’t, he thought.
“Meant to ask about yer age, I’m quite old in the tooth,” Dawson murmured desperately, suddenly caring about not hurting her. Could this work? Was it possible? He thought anxiously.
“How old?” Minix asked retrieving her long tongue from his mouth.
“Ehm, closer to five and forty by morrow,” Dawson admitted.
“Heh, I’m two and eighty,” Minix chuckled and paused to add, before diving for his face again. “We’re both young silly!”
Episode E
-Died of hemp fever-
Trifton paused to stare at the settlement a day later, hand over his eyes and little Vitrix doing the same riding on his shoulders.
“This looks more like the same design Yellow,” he noticed.
“Eh, where is your father lass?” Dawson asked the appealing Gish healer. Also dancer and ambassador between the two Elders.
“Beyond Bucunil Peaks,” she replied, the mountains in question standing imposing to their south behind the huts and hovels of Terbville.
Shit.
“I’ll head there now, what is the holdup Wayland?” Trifton frowned hearing they were on a first name basis.
They had come much closer than that as a matter of fact.
Their rigging becoming all entangled.
“I need to head after Linx,” he reminded her.
“How? We don’t know where she went,” Minix looked about her puzzled. “The lake is huge.”
“Who would know?”
“Fishermen, or hunters roaming about,” she murmured and stopped a Gish carrying a sack of something over his shoulder walking by, the local’s gaze on the imposing visitors.
“Rimix dear,” Minix said sugary. “You have news of humans?”
“What are they?” Rimix asked with a grunt nodding their way. “Orcs?”
“Eh, Corsairs…” she replied sweetly.
“Umm. They’ve taken over Pifilix’s farm up west. These humans,” he finally said crooking his mouth. “People have sent for your father and some even went there to see if the rumors are true.”
“What rumors?” Dawson grunted.
“Some misunderstanding probably,” Rimix replied eyeing their weaponry. “They say a local working the fields died.”
“Was it natural?” Minix asked unable to fathom the alternative. “An accident?”
“More like to a blade,” Dawson grunted and the male Gish shook his pink head right and left in the negative.
“Rope. Rumors say, twas a hanging,” Rimix replied and Barnet cursed, his eyes burning holes on Dawson’s back. Minix had lost her color. She stood back horrified and turned her stare on Dawson.
Trifton cleared his throat ready to ask him the plan as well.
“I’m thinking on it, mister Trifton!” Dawson grunted.
“What’s to think Yellow?” Barnet taunted. “Once folk start dying of hemp fever, not much talking can be done, which leaves one option, since yer unwilling to entertain another.”
“What’s the other?” Dawson rustled without looking at him.
“Get our supplies and leave,” Barnet spat. “Afore it’s too late.”
“I warned ye not to be an idiot and a pessimist,” he told him. “How are we to repair the ship afore they find their way inland? Or hop to the next? You’ll leave ‘em roaming?”
“The locals can handle it,” Barnet retorted and Zander grimaced.
Maybe if the Brig’s survivor’s numbers were low. But what about Linx? Would she had stayed away?
“Captain?” Trifton asked.
“How do I reach this farm to check for myself?” He asked Minix.
“You walk west keeping to the shores and you’ll come across it,” she replied.
“It’s on the road from their wreck,” Vitrix said.
“Are you sure?”
“Aye Captain!” Vitrix yelled.
“Trifton see to make a map of the place. Trade for a vellum,” Dawson decided. “We’ll try to sneak near them to gauge their numbers.”
“Then what?” Barnet taunted.
“Then we’ll reevaluate the situation.”
“Huh!” the dour pirate grunted.
“You know what… you have a point,” Dawson decided. “You head back to the raft and return to Ducuril. Take Garix’s donkeys and ride back to our camp. Tell him it’s an emergency. Then bring the others here and as many weapons you can carry.”
“That’s at least ten days Dawson,” Barnet grunted. “What’s the point?”
“Leave me yer blade,” Dawson retorted. “Time moves slower in these parts for everyone.”
“You’ll stop them with a blade?”
“They won’t brave the inland without info,” Dawson rustled and glared at him. “We know much more about the lay of the land and I don’t see the locals talking to them, if they’ve already killed one, do you?”
Barnet nodded, his lip still a mess and untied his sword buckle to toss it on Dawson’s feet. The pirate captain glanced at the small Gish on Trifton’s back and gave him a reassuring smile.
“Do you think they have her?” Minix whispered and laced her hand with his.
“Best not to talk about it right now lass,” Dawson cautioned her and returned his eyes on Barnet walking back towards the docks and Velix’s raft.
“Might stir the others Yellow,” Trifton warned in his turn, but for another reason and Dawson nodded once, afore stooping and taking the sword with his left hand.
Find land first, he thought. Worry about the landing later.
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They found the lights of the farm two hours after midnight. The torches burning near the center of the small settlement, another gathering of huts and farmhouses near mostly blossoming hemp fields. The island climate very mild despite the season. Pifilix the patriarch and owner was an older Gish farmer that had kept his extended family near him.
“There are pillars set in front of the bigger house,” Trifton informed him, as he’d approached to have a better look with the spyglass at the lit up area. “Couldn’t make who is who, but ‘em wooden pillars have folk tied on them.”
“How many?” Dawson grunted keeping near the reeds of the lake. The sound of the many insects living in the fertile area making it difficult to hear anything coming from the settlement, no more than two hundred meters away.
“At least twenty posts captain.”
“How many Gish be living here you think?” Dawson asked and Vitrix that had come along pointed a small arm.
“Virtix,” he said.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“I know yer… wait,” Dawson looked to where he was pointing and spotted a touch of pink in the moonlight. His sister burst out of the reeds she was hiding in and rushed to the pirate captain with a squeal.
“You came balding Dawson!” Virtix cried happy hugging his leg, then bursting into sobs.
Eh.
“There now,” Dawson said taken aback and lifted her up. “It’s alright lassie,” he told her caressing that mess of hair.
Virtix calmed down slowly and Zander who was standing with their bags shook his head.
“I don’t like this,” he said forlornly. Wayland made to admonish him as he’d just managed to comfort the little Gish, when a taller, wiry Gish came out of the reeds armed with a bow. He pointed it at him, a miffed expression on his face.
“Let go. Of her,” the dressed in rough leather garbs Gish spat warningly, stopping for emphasis. “Else I shoot you in the knee.”
“Blimey!” Trifton gasped. “That be unwelcomin’ matey.”
The Gish pointed at Trifton with his short-cut pink head. “Then I shoot him in the face.”
“I don’t like this,” Zander decided and reached for his cutlass.
“Derix,” Virtix said somberly. “These are our pirate friends.”
“Zander keep that sheathed,” Dawson ordered and Derix pursed his mouth unsure.
“Sis there are no good—”
“I resent yer allegation mate,” Trifton cut him off mid-sentence.
“Lad,” Dawson intervened. “We got nothing to do with them. Came here to help.”
“They are murdering people over there,” Derix retorted, but lowered his bow. “Frankly you don’t appear much better.”
“Derix, they are!” his sister snapped.
“They gave me these boots,” his brother added.
“Let’s keep our voices low,” Dawson cautioned and then glanced at the nearby farming settlement. “Do you know where Linx is lad?”
“They have her,” Derix hissed. “But they are too many to approach.”
Monkey’s arse!
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“Their ship crashed on Ilvilix’s west mouth, across from Egg Isles,” Derix explained keeping his voice low. “When the water is high the sea pours into the lake over the rocks creating reefs, or even openings. From afar it might even resemble a natural harbor, but it isn’t. They tried to turn that way, but the land swelled afore they could navigate it. They were close enough to the shores to make it through the shallows on foot and reach the farms.”
“How many?” Dawson rustled feeling the half-asleep Virtix’s breath on his neck. She had climbed on his shoulders mimicking her brother.
“I saw six or seven. Large… humans, wearing armor and carrying many weapons,” Derix replied. “One of Pifilix’s grandchildren Aersix that made it out raised that number to eleven.”
“How many Gish over there?”
“Probably around forty, mostly females and children in that number turning hemp to rope, or clothing. No warriors, or much of weapons though.”
“What else did she say?” Dawson asked.
“They wanted to buy supplies and things were going well for a while, but then one of Pifilix’s children took a fancy on a pair of gloves and took them.”
“Ye mean stole them,” Dawson retorted.
“The humans caught him wearing them and their leader ordered him hanged to set an example,” Derix hissed. “The rest gathered to protest his decision, but they rounded up the mostly young protesters, tied the more vocal ones to posts and locked the others in a barn. Pifilix asked for a peaceful solution as some of those working the fields were angry enough to fight, when they returned. Their leader agreed, the rest of the settlement surrendered and the humans hanged his son either way.”
“Tis Armium law for stealing lad,” Trifton said and Derix narrowed his eyes.
“Are you insane? For a pair of gloves?”
“For a loaf of bread, or any article of clothing,” Trifton retorted, well versed in criminal law seeing as he’d a rap sheet as big as Corsair’s Gold foresail himself.
Derix blinked.
“I don’t like this at all,” Zander said pensively.
“Not now Unhappy Zander,” Dawson grunted. “Why did they arrest Linx? She wasn’t one of the locals.”
“How is being one of the locals reason enough to have you killed, or tied to a post?” Derix exploded angry.
“They supported the thief,” Trifton explained. “It’s common law, else be known as ‘collaborators guilt’ lad.”
“Human law!” Derix grunted.
“Armium’s, but I guess yer in the right there,” Trifton yielded.
“The pearls,” Dawson murmured and Derix turned to look at him.
“What?”
“The reason yer sister got in trouble,” Dawson explained. “She showed them her necklace, offered it in a trade.”
“A trade for what?” Derix snapped clasping at his forehead, as if his head hurt.
“She wants to go to Jelin. Sail back,” Dawson explained.
“They don’t have a ship!” came Derix’s exasperated retort. “And is this a crime too?”
“She wouldn’t have known that and it isn’t depending who you’re talking to. Now these rascals the moment they saw ‘em pearls, they also saw a way out of their troubles.”
“Treasure lost, treasure gained,” Trifton agreed pensively.
“Why keep her after they got the necklace?” Derix asked hoarsely.
“To get more. There is more me lad, am I right?” Dawson asked.
“Of course. You just have to gather them,” Derix replied and puffed out. “Females use them as decoration, necklaces, bracelets… but pink gems are prettier, so they use them more. But you have to dig for those and visit Rudix Knup to have them cut.”
“I don’t like this,” Zander murmured sadly, whilst Trifton perked up to the Gish’s words.
“Pink or purple?” Trifton asked pursing his mouth.
“What does this…? Dark pink, more purple I guess,” Derix sighed and reaching into a pocket got a nice small knife iron knife out, polished wood on the handle with a large amethyst slotted at the pommel. “I had this made for her, but didn’t have the time to give it.”
“Best that ye didn’t,” Dawson assured him. “Listen, I’ve sent for me crew. Minix shall speak to her father to send people here.”
“Where’s your crew?” Derix asked still looking at the knife he wanted to gift his sister.
“Ducuril.”
“What? It’ll be nights afore they reach here!” Derix protested. “I’ll go there and get her out myself!”
“Best that ye didn’t,” Dawson repeated.
“So your solution, is to hide in the reeds and wait for them?” Derix protested. “What if they hurt her?”
Dawson grimaced and stood back.
“Mister Trifton, perhaps it be time to parley?” He rustled.
“Is it auspicious though… the timing, or enough of it?” Trifton wondered.
Dawson smacked his lips. “We ought to buy ourselves more time is what Mister Trifton is saying.”
“I don’t like—”
Dawson stopped Zander with a bark.
“Not now Zander!” He breathed once deeply, Virtix drooling on his nape waking up startled. “I shall go to the settlement and parley wit their leader. Pretend to be someone else. A lowly member of the crew.”
He’d done plenty of impersonating in his youth.
“He’ll remember yer voice from the ship,” Trifton reminded him.
“Trifton—” Dawson said changing the plan, but Trifton stopped him afore he could finish.
“He’ll remember mine as well captain. We’ve exchanged some choice words,” Trifton added. “Twas in the heat of the moment, but still…”
“Mister Zander,” Dawson continued with a weary sigh, changing his plan yet again. “Ye shall go to the leader of them rascals and… ask for a meeting.”
“Where to?” Zander asked resigning to his fate.
“Near here, but not near enough to spot the kids,” Dawson replied. “Tell them ‘Yellow’ Dawson has a deal for them nigh profitable.”
“Assuming they don’t hang me next to the Gish,” Zander said as unhappy as Dawson ever remembered him in the ten years they’ve known each other. “What do I say about our ship? He’ll ask seeing as theirs is pretty smashed.”
“We moored safely,” Dawson replied.
“Linx might have told them—” Trifton tried to say, but Dawson cut him off.
“They’ll never trust she knows what she’s talking about,” he told him and eyed the restless Gish. “Derix I need ye to be patient and take yer siblings out of sight for a while.”
Episode F
-Be doing wicked things-
Zander returned an hour later, the meeting setup in two about a hundred meters from the settlement. Dawson had spent the time mulling on a story in his head and sharpening Barnet’s heavy blade. Virtix wiped the oil off when he finished with the hankie he’d given her the day they had met at the beach.
“What did they say?”
“Captain Giunta wasn’t enthusiastic with the proposal,” Zander explained. “He hoped we were dead is me feeling Dawson.”
Dawson hoped the same for them too, so he could understand the Brig’s captain.
“Go on.”
“But Commander Carini thought they need to listen,” Zander continued and seeing Wayland’s expression he added. “The leader of the marines. I saw a couple of sailors, but at least ten mercenaries were loitering about Yellow.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, I told them we learned of their plight and as fellow humans, we thought to reach an agreement after a meeting and perhaps a show of faith.”
“That’s pretty reasonable,” Trifton commented.
“What are you going to say to them?” Zander asked. “The moment you speak of the girl they might get suspicious.”
“Now you’re being like Barnet,” Dawson admonished him. “They don’t give a shite about Linx, or any of the Gish. Coin and a means to get off this island is what motivates them.”
He stared at the knife he had taken from Derix. The gem on in it sparkling in the moonlight, a fine polished purple. Big as a pigeon’s egg.
“They might rush us,” Trifton said.
“You stay back with Derix and the kids, but make some noise, so they know there are more of us. No giggling, or games,” Dawson added and seeing Trifton ogling his eyes comically, he added with a weary sigh. “Wasn’t meaning you Lucky, fer crying out loud.”
“Didn’t think ye were,” Trifton replied pursing his lips. “We have company… is all.”
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Captain Eriberto Giunta, the polite man behind the Brig’s iron-reinforced door, was a forty-something Lorian, dressed in quality leather garbs that had been through the wringer. He’d a sword on his hip and a mail shirt on.
A taller, wiry Lorian stood next to him, wearing leather armor laced with mail rings and carried two swords and a harpoon. Three more heavily armed mercenary marines were standing behind their leaders, carrying swords and long shafted axes with holed blades.
Motherfuckers had decimated his attacking force and it had taken hours to cut them down to size back in the Brig, mostly because they had retreated to lock themselves up in the aftcastle.
You should have broken that door down, had ‘em all walk the plank.
“Accursed ‘Yellow’ Dawson,” Giunta said, less polite but still in his refined Common. The man had come out of Admiralty’s classrooms, probably looked for better pay after some years in the navy with the Bank’s merchant fleet. “In the flesh,” he had a thin mustache over his goatee that made him appear aristocratic despite his tattered clothing. Then again, the saying was there’s a Baron under every rock in Lesia.
“Regrettably yer name don’t ring any bells,” Dawson replied and stabbed his stick with the white cloth in the soft ground. The cloth was his other sleeve he had to rip out himself as no one had any colorless garbs to spare. “May I inquire as to the condition of the natives?”
“Why the interest?” Giunta asked narrowing his eyes.
“This is a big island,” Dawson told him. “Another to the north, one more further to the east. A chain of them around these three.”
“The Sinking Isles,” Giunta added with a leer. “We have figured out where we are Mister Dawson.”
“Gish land,” Dawson insisted. “As in, there are a lot more of them than us,” he looked at them and noticed Jacomo Cariri was concerned to his words. The hardened mercenary knowing numbers could turn out to be a problem.
“We can handle the primitives. Thieving, backwards creatures with no morals,” Giunta preached angry. “Filth! A corrupted tissue that needs to be excised and the land cleansed Mister Dawson.”
Same words, but for a different bunch of folk. Dawson had heard this type of reasoning a number of times in the past. Didn’t like it then, wasn’t fond of it now.
“You can’t do that with ten men Giunta,” Dawson cautioned him. “Better to leave the cleansing to the church, or a proper army.”
“Eh,” Giunta scoffed.
“A word of advice. Rounding up farmers is easy. But if ye face a thousand, twice that number, or more of armed Gish, you might think differently,” Dawson said hoarsely.
“How many are out there?” Carini asked.
Too many for you lot.
“Impossible to tell. As I said these are not the Free Isles Carini,” Dawson replied. “Ten times the size of Turtle Isle at least and the population unknown, but they are armed enough and pretty skilled with a bow. A learned man should know that about the Gish.”
“They make good scouts,” one of the soldiers agreed and Giunta glared at him pissed.
“These Gish are thieves Dawson, I understand a pirate turning a blind eye on their digressions—”
Motherfucker ye were pleading for your life on the ship!
“Spare me the lecture,” Dawson stopped him angry. “Where is Linx?”
Giunta stood back affronted, blood rushing to his face.
“I don’t know—” he started, but Dawson cut him off again.
“The girl wit the pearls,” the pirate captain spat.
“Ah,” Giunta said and nodded. He lodged his tongue under his upper lip and then worked it in his mouth. “Carini is the girl around?”
“Per your orders sir,” Carini grunted.
“See Mister Dawson,” Giunta said. “She’s fine. I stopped the men from roughening her up. She’s held in a separate house you see and one could get wicked ideas in his head out of people’s eyes. But I decreed the wench was not part of the outlaws living here and put a stop to it.”
“How roughed up?” Dawson asked through his teeth.
“She was cooperative,” Carini assured him and Dawson grinded his teeth, but kept his composure.
“You want more pearls,” he told the Captain of the Brig.
“I find myself in a breach of contract,” Giunta hissed. “Unable to return under the threat of jail, or worse. I must find myself alternative means of income and this place, this land Mister Dawson while backwards is rich and ripe for the taking.”
“You need a ship to get back,” Dawson said.
“Is this your suggestion? Split the loot as you pirates say?” Giunta asked with a leer. “In exchange you’ll deliver us in Eikenport let’s say, or Turtle Isles. Somewhere to gather enough like-minded people of your ilk and return. Do I have your plan figured out?”
It was more Giunta’s plan, but Dawson nodded.
“I want the girl though, you can keep the pearls,” he tossed him the knife and it landed a meter from him. Giunta stooped to pick it up and stared at it in the light of their torches. “There are more than pearls here,” Dawson added.
“Why is she important?” Giunta asked thoughtfully.
“I’m a wicked man,” Dawson recited in a rustle, half-truth half-a-lie, a chimp cackling at the irony from afar. Or in a warning. “In me wicked ways, I have wicked plans for her.”
Giunta nodded and pocketed the knife, after giving it a good look.
“Say we agree, how far is your ship?”
“Far enough. I need ten days and yer word you won’t harm anyone else.”
Giunta stared at Carini and smirked. “Why would I believe a word you say Mister Dawson?” he asked with a toothy snigger and turned to stare at him.
Lice covered black chimpanzee be hangin’ from a cannabis tree, Dawson thought and pressed his mouth tight.
“I reckon you wouldn’t,” he replied wearily staring at his worn-out boots.
“Your people move,” Giunta said with a satisfied leer. “I kill the Gish wench. See now, you twist an arm Mister Dawson and all manner of things come out. Like how ye rejected the offer to take the pearls from her in the first place. Why would she… lie about that?”
Shite.
Episode G
-Ungainly problems, call for unclean solutions-
“Reckon she wouldn’t,” Dawson conceded and unsheathed Barnet’s blade, Giunta’s washed out blond eyebrows raising mockingly. “But they are not my people either, so they might move just the same.”
His meaning less ambiguous and more a warning.
Giunta’s smile dropped and a male Gish came out of the brushwood six meters to their right with a loaded bow. The Gish loosed the arrow, Giunta flinched reaching for his sword, but the arrow struck the ground in front of him and the Gish calmly went for another from a packed quiver.
This was a clear warning.
“You piece of filth!” Giunta grunted furious and right and left of the bow-aiming Gish more came out of the reeds and the bushes blossoming near the lake’s shores. Armed with bows and carrying small blades. Behind Dawson Trifton and Zander approached swords in hands, along with Derix.
“Captain we need to retreat,” Carini warned Giunta and gestured for the soldiers to move forward. The one further to their right raised a wooden shield, but an arrow whipped past it and smacked him on the shoulder. The armour splitting there and the mail rings barely stopping it from doing more damage. The man growled and stumbled back. “NOW, GIUNTA!” Carini barked and diplomacy took a back seat.
Ungainly problems, call for unclean solutions, Dawson thought and rushed towards the retreating group. Hoping yer time here would’ve been peaceful and idyllic was naught but wishful thinking me lad, he admonished himself.
A marine twisted seeing him approach, keeping his shield to the circling much lighter armoured Gish, though they almost all carried bows and used his sword to slash at Dawson. The pirate stepped out of the way, the blade slicing at his coat, made to hack at the soldier, but he jumped back.
Dawson grunted and stepped forward, an arrow whistling and breaking on the shield. The soldier recoiled and kept retreating the lights of the settlement coming closer. The night coming alive with yells and cries of fury and fear. He jumped to the marine’s left, the blade slashing at his bandaged arm, but Dawson expected it and slapped it down with the flat of the heavy blade. Raised it next to hack at the Lorian, but he turned his torso and put his shield up to block Dawson’s blade.
BANG, went the sword striking at the shield’s iron rim, cutting through it and splitting the wood. The soldier grimaced, went to swing at his knees, but two arrows struck him in quick succession. One going through his left elbow, the other entering below the same armpit. Its bone tip exiting at his chest and tenting his armour from the inside.
“GUEH!” the man gasped, blood spraying out of his mouth and twisted about, his left arm useless and the shield banging on the ground, grip lost from his numb fingers.
Dawson raised his sword, but Zander got to the man first and hacked once splitting his clavicle afore flooring him with a kick to the chest.
Dawson jumped over him almost turning an ankle, heart thundering mad like a drum in a Cofol festival, cursed and stumbled forward –not as good fighting on still land- and Giunta paused fifty meters from the settlement to eye him. Two soldiers had been cut off from the attacking Gish and were defending against multiple yelling opponents. While they sported several wounds already, their heavy blades had downed five hot-blooded Gish.
“Giunta!” Carini barked anxiously, the furthest away from their group. “Leave him, we need to get to the prisoners!”
Sick whore of Castalor!
Dawson attacked the captain of the Brig immediately upon reaching him, but Giunta sidestepped and opened a wound on his sides, his tattered heavy coat saving him from the worst. Dawson stumbled on his feet, the cut smarting and bleeding.
“You owe me a ship Yellow Dawson. But you owe the Bank a treasure. McClean will never forget,” Giunta warned him. “Word will get out from your drunken filth of a kin, in every port they visit and it will reach the headquarters,” he hacked at him, but Dawson twirled away cursing his mother. “Five years, or ten. The Bank will find that accursed Vale and then it’ll come here looking for retribution.”
Dawson spat down breathing heavy and faked a high slash, going for his legs instead, but Giunta parried it away. He saw soldiers coming from the settlement and Carini waving for them to get back and get to the prisoners. The mercenary has the right idea, Dawson thought worried and almost gotten himself killed from Giunta’s savage attack.
The arriving Zander slashed at the captain, but he saw him and jumped away, slashing at him when he landed opening a nasty gash on his chest. Zander recoiled with a grunt and Derix rolled a meter from him, landing on a knee and loosed his arrow at the attacking Giunta. The captain jolted and tried to slap it away with his sword, but he directed it to his thigh instead, the wound superficial. Giunta growled and grabbed at the arrow to pull it out, but the rising up Derix fired another one from two meters away and right at his chest. The captain was shoved back with a groan, made to get that out too, but a third arrow nailed his left hand next to the second one right through the wrist.
“You… piece of filth!” Giunta grunted and slashed wide at a lithely circling him Derix, the Gish reloading fast and firing a fourth arrow to his face. Giunta lost the grip on his blade and it clanged down, faltered wildy, an arrow sticking out of his right eye, gore covering his face and then dropped flat on his head, breaking it.
“Get Carini!” Dawson barked at the snarling Gish glancing back, whilst running after the mercenary. Zander dropping on his knees with a groan and then lost behind a large host of approaching Gish, some of them carrying the mercenaries weapons and shields.
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Dawson reached the settlement a minute later, sweat smarting his eyes and breathing heavy alike a dog that wandered out of the desert. The mercenaries had gathered some prisoners and were leading them towards the west side of the farms. Carini dragging a badly mauled Linx from her hair, a large swell on the young Gish’s face under the eye bleeding.
“Ye rascals can’t escape an island on foot!” Dawson rustled nearing them.
Carini glanced at him with a tense grimace, his eyes turning to the crowd following after the pirate captain and bared his teeth in a cornered animal’s snarl. He shoved a groaning Linx to a subordinate. “Viola they take another step, you slit her throat.”
“Aye sir,” Viola, a burly Lorian replied and got a long dagger out of a sheath.
“Ye kill her and yer finished,” Dawson warned him, hefting his cutlass with a sweaty grip.
“I want out of this cursed place Dawson!” Carini growled furious.
“Ye ain’t leaving son,” Wayland rustled. “None of yer lot is. Let them go and ye might still breathe on the morrow.”
“You expect me to believe you?” Carini spat nervously, black eyes filled with despair. At least two hundred Gish had surrounded his men. Even simple sticks without bone tips could kill you if all those bows fired at once, Dawson thought. A hundred hurled river rocks might even do it as well.
“I give ye me word,” Dawson told him tiredly, Trifton coming to stop next to him, little Vitrix appearing between his legs carrying a large bloody dagger on his bony shoulder. “What’s the alternative?”
“Sir?” Viola asked, the blade touching a grimacing Linx’s chin.
Carini grimaced and stared around him frustrated, then at his less than ten men. The odds insurmountable, since Silix’s ‘send the hunting parties after them’ suggestion had tipped the scales of the conflict dramatically. Considering most of the hunters were away, Giunta didn’t stand a chance once the Gish decided to fight back.
“Fucking hells,” the mercenary grunted and tossed his sword down. “Gods above, see to keep yer word Yellow Dawson!” he growled and gestured for his men to throw their weapons down as well.
Wayland breathed out relieved, when Linx was released and she stumbled back to their lines until a grim-faced Derix caught her. He helped her near the screaming twins and she collapsed on her knees crying.
The Gish freed their own, cries of joy and of despair mixed in, as several of the locals were still hanged in front of huts, their corpses rotting and infested with flies. The stench of death overwhelming. Two large boxes filled with valuables, pearls and gems, plain jewelry and amethyst adorned knives, along what looked like a silver, strangely engraved guidance box. The latter not belonging with the treasure, but Dawson could see why the mercenaries had taken it.
This was ancient Issir technology from Reinut’s armada.
“You gave your word Dawson,” a pale-faced Carini reminded him when he approached them later with Trifton in tow. The eight mercenaries had been tied to the posts in the middle of the settlement after their previous owners had vacated them. Zander’s gloomy prophecy had come true and the Issir pirate had breathed his last where he’d fallen. Virtix was inconsolable for the loss of the ‘corsair seer’. Zander wasn’t one, but he was loyal in a business where loyalty was scarcer than gold.
“What be the punishment for a pirate forcing himself on a noble woman?” Dawson asked hoarsely.
Carini gawked his eyes and went to protest, but he stopped him and turned to Trifton.
“Mutilation of the genitals and burning,” Trifton replied without batting an eyelash.
“She was no noble woman!” Viola growled furious, the others glaring at him with hatred.
“How do you know?” Dawson retorted gravely. “What be the punishment for torture and killing an innocent?”
“You son of a bitch! You’re a disgrace to your species!” Carini blasted him spittle flying out of his mouth.
“Mister Trifton please enlighten us if ye please, afore dis turns philosophical,” Dawson continued, clenching his jaw at his outburst.
“For murder, or the like,” Trifton said and then pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I believe hanged, drawn and quartered ‘Yellow’ Dawson.”
Dawson nodded.
“YOU BASTARD!” Carini yelled furious. “Lying scum!”
“What be the Gish punishment for the same offenses?” Dawson asked and Derix who had approached stared at the humans with his red-rimmed alien eyes.
“We don’t have rape,” he explained with a frown. “A Gish might persist stubbornly, but will never force the issue. It’s unthinkable. For murder, its exile, unless the family wishes retribution. Pifilix wishes the matter to end here. Enough blood has been spilt.”
Carini ogled his eyes stunned, not believing the decision, sweat covering his face and the rest of the mercenary soldiers murmuring in shock.
“Unfortunately fer you,” Dawson started gravely. “In yer case human law applies seeing as humans are present to deliver it.”
“What?” Carini gasped in horror.
“Mister Trifton,” Dawson said harshly. He couldn’t allow them to live. If one of them got out, the Realm would know it was possible to reach the Isles and the locals weren’t ready for it. “How soon can we have enough twigs and logs for a good fire? No blood spilt per the old geese’s wishes.”
“A couple of hours,” Trifton retorted readily. “If the Gish help.”
“Mister Derix?”
“There’s firewood aplenty,” Derix replied not as forgiving as the old patriarch.
“DAWSON YOU PIECE OF SHITE!” Carini growled furious. “YOU’LL ROT IN ALLHELLS YOU BASTARD!”
“Say yer prayers to Oras,” Dawson told him sternly. “Me sins are mine, but ye lads did this unto yourselves.”
> The fires still burned at dawn. Black smoke and the putrid smell of burning flesh cleansing the rot away from the center of the settlement. The next week found us returning to Terbville to meet with old Silix. The Gish elder so overcome with emotions at meeting the famed Corsair of Ducuril, he all but tumbled down the sloped path to his house and was saved by his nimble pretty daughter. He did collapse later at a feast held in his large stone estate covered with memorabilia of a long life and a time when the realm was different. The reason not his advanced –even for a Gish- age, Silix was in his third century, but Yellow Dawson’s black whiskey he had insisted in glugging down with fervor.
>
> Silix had managed to indulge us with fanciful stories of the great Armada that had changed Gish history and purged the wyvern lords away from the Isles. Dawson kept the detail of a wyvern lord returning to Wetull not wanting to sadden the old Gish, but we were all intrigued from the stories of the ruined Issir Star, the port city the Issirs had built facing Armada’s Gulf and later abandoned in the three years they had spent with the Gish. The old Captain decided to visit the ruins with the help of old Rudix Knup, the Issir-Gish half-breed that frequently made the journey to visit his father’s grave. The ‘tallest and blackest’ Gish ‘Yellow’ and the crew had ever witnessed.
>
> ‘Dour’ Barnet thought the trip unnecessary and a way for ‘Yellow’ Dawson to prolong his stay in the Sinking Isles which further soured their relationship. This, as much as the journey to Grilix Isle and traversing Snake’s Tail to reach Armada’s Gulf, is another story though. ‘Yellow’ would remain in the Sinking Isles for a whole year before making the journey back to honor his promise to young Linx, which is of course yet another tale and time is getting late for this old seadog. Anyways it was obvious to all that knew him best that his heart never left and it was just a matter of time afore he would return.
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> Byron ‘Gem Eye’ Vail,
>
> (Born in Armium in 150 NC, died of the shivers in late winter of 214 NC in Turtle Port.)
>
> Sailing beyond Abrakas Gullet,
>
> -A buccaneer’s memoir-
>
> Chapter Nine
>
> Old ‘Yellow’ & the Sinking Isles
>
> (Compiled in the Turtle Isles city of Head, by Renly Coburn and commissioned by a character named Sudi. A man rumored to be working for the Baron of Moon Haven and the Turtle Isles in 211 NC.)
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read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
Scribblehub https://www.scribblehub.com/series/542002/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms/
& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/