Quetzalcoatl Quinze woke up on the laying flat on his back, the all to familiar feeling of wood beneath him. Rocking in a rhythmic pattern with the cloudless sky above, there was only one place he could be: a ship’s deck. He was just about done with them by this point. Seconds after regaining consciousness, pain washed throughout Quetza’s body. His right side was on fire, his head hurt something terrible, and he had the most curious sensation coming from his right arm. He shut his eyes and cursed the sun beating down on him; cursed the ship he lay on, cursed the sea, the gods, his good for nothing parents. Quetzalcoatl Quinze cursed everything that came to memory, and then some. Suddenly a shrill shriek broke the string of profanity escaping the pirate’s lips.

“Father! He’s awake!” a shrill female voice called out. She sounded young. If it wasn’t odd enough to have a woman on a ship, she was a kid to boot. It had been years since Quetza heard a woman’s voice resonate off the wood of a vessel. After a brief pause some footsteps approached, slapping a lazy beat across the pine boards. Reluctantly opening his eyes, Quetza looked up at a gaunt, bearded face. The beard it wore told the stories of the seas it sailed: a black mess spotted with white, wild and unkempt. His eyes sat deeply in their sockets, and his mouth formed a thin scowl. It was one of those faces that you could not believed had ever felt youth.

“I know who you are,” the man spat.

“And I haven’t a clue who you are,” Quetza replied casually, unaffected by the man’s tone.

“Who I am is none of your business, pirate.” the way he said the word could only be described as poisonous.

“I’m sure you’re referring to one of the other men on this ship,” Quetza sat up and glanced around the boat, a tiny fishing craft, which he was the sole other human on board, “it appears I’m mistaken,” he finished. “Unless, of course, you’re referring to the girl,” he motioned to the skinny thing standing on the bow.

“I’m not one for japes, pirate.”

“And I’m not one for false accusations, fisher,” retorted Quetza, in the same lazy tone.

“It matters not, pirate, now tell me, how did the famed Quetzalcoatl Quinze lose his sword arm?”

Automatically, Quetza looked down. Where once used to be an arm was now only a poorly dressed stump. He could feel his heart racing, and if he had eaten anything recently, it would have surely come up. Clenching his eyes, Quetza was taken back to the last night he had memory of. He remembered escaping that creature by throwing himself overboard. He remembered hitting the water. He remembered the biting of steel, rending his right arm at the shoulder. This was too much.

“Where is my crew?” choked Quetza, “and how do you know who I am?” his voice suddenly lacking confidence.

“Your’s was the only worthless soul I pulled from the sea. And anyone who sails this sea knows who you are, pirate. There is only one man on the Demon’s Sea with your queer hair and eyes.”

“That’s cute, fisher, I’m glad you took the time to examine my eyes. Did you know it is because of these eyes and hair that hundreds of maidens all along the Sunset Kingdom’s have offered me up their cherries?” Quetza asked, grinning while shooting a glance meant to provoke at the girl on the bow. Arm or no arm, quick retorts were in Quetza’s blood. He liked to think of it as a coping mechanism, helping him deal with a pirate’s life on the waves, but really Quetzalcoatl Quinze just didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. With his bravado filled comment out of the way, Quetza regained his legendary confidence. Looking at his easy going face, you would not think he was a man who had just found out he lost a ship, a crew, and an appendage.

“Shut it pirate, lest I return you to the waves. What happened to your arm?” Sighing, Quetza decided to entertain the man’s fancy.

“I don’t know fisher, my ship was attacked, and a man in a strange mask almost took my life. I had thought I escaped unscathed, but I guess not.”

“What was the likeness of the mask, pirate? Was it an animal?” The old man suddenly seemed interested in Quetza’s story.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“It was indeed, fisher. It was a hog, or pig, or something of the sort. Why does that matter?”

“It matters, pirate, because the last time I was in Gold Harbor there was a deranged man spinning a similar tale. He claimed the ship darkened the sky and brought a storm with it, and within seconds the entire crew had been butchered by monsters wearing masks in the visage of animals.” Quetza did not want to believe the fisherman, but something told him it could not have been coincidence.

“So what, is there a cursed ship prowling the Demon’s Sea? You and I have been sailing these waters long enough to know that these things are just fish-wive’s tales.”

The old man gave Quetza one more look, and proceeded to re-occupy himself with a net.

Quetzalcoatl Quinze remained on the deck, and drifted into a restless sleep filled with dreams of ghost ships and strange men in masks and his missing arm.

When he awoke, it was night. The old man and the girl lay asleep a few feet away from Quetza. He struggled to his feet, gasping with pain. Somehow his ribs hurt more than the stump where his arm used to reside. He stumbled to the bow and propped himself against one of the rails.

The Demon’s Sea was beautiful on a calm night. An uncountable amount of stars gleamed in the sky, and the moon turned a portion of the sea into quicksilver. A gentle breeze blew across the ocean, and for a moment Quetzalcoatl Quinze was at peace.

The old man approached without a sound, and stood next to Quetza, staring out onto the horizon with him. They stood like that for a few minutes before Quetza broke the silence.

“Is the girl your daughter?”

“Of sorts,” the man replied. “Her parents were killed in a storm and I took her in. She helps me out on the boat.”

“That was noble of you,” said Quetza.

“And what would Quetzalcoatl Quinze know about nobleness?” the man gave Quetza a look of disgust.

All Quetza could do was laugh and stare out into the sea. After a few more minutes he asked another question. “Where are we headed, anyway?”

“We?” replied the man, giving Quetza a strange look.

“Well, it appears to me that we’re on the same boat, I can’t really stray too far from you.” Quetza continued to stare into the horizon, he was beginning to make out the first tendrils of morning.

“I’m heading for Queensport, we’re no more than a day away,” the man explained.

“Going to collect my bounty, fisher? The Admiralty there will pay a handsome sum for my handsome head.”

“I’m a fisherman, not a bounty hunter, pirate. Besides, I’m no fool. You made a name for yourself by the sword. You’re in a bad state, pirate, but you could still take my life if threatened”

“Hmm. Very well then, humble fisherman, to Queensport it is.”

Perfect, thought Quetza. He knew just the right person for the predicament he was in, and she happened to reside in Queensport. He was also of no small renown there, as evidenced by his bounty. With any luck, he’d be able to put a crew together, obtain a ship, and be out on the sea again within the month.

The next afternoon the small fishing boat navigated the Queen’s Teeth, a natural reef protecting Queen’s Harbor, which lay in the city of Queensport. Quetza was no good with history, but he imagined whichever Queen the city and her surroundings were named after must have been extremely noteworthy. As they reached the docks, which Quetza assumed were named the Queen’s Docks, he smiled, and got up to depart.

“By the way fisher, what is your name, so I may repay you when I regain my fortune,” he said as he left.

“I would not want your ill-gotten wealth, pirate,” spat out the old man.

“If not for you, take it for the girl, so she may lead a better life than  sailing the Demon’s Sea.” The old man thought about it for a few minutes before replying.

“My name is Roddam, from Saverston.”

“Saverston? Aren’t you a bit far from home?” Quetza knew Saverston as a castle-town on Berrius, the large continent that the Demon’s Sea touched to the north. Queenstown was a port of Incho-Gladius, the smaller southern continent they were presently on. Incho-Gladius may have been smaller, but was far greater populated, with many various cities and cultures, Queenstown was the least jarring for most Northerners, as it was founded as a trade outpost by Northern traders. From Queenstown spread a number of trade cities all along the western coast, which would eventually become known as the Sunset Kingdoms. Farther inland, following the Winding Water, the river that bisects Incho-Gladius, there are cities strange and unknown to most travellers. Quetza himself, although spending most of his life in Incho-Gladius, had not even been to most of these towns.

The fisher did not respond, but got out of his craft and passed Quetza, little girl in tow. She glanced back at him, smiling.

“I’ll pay you back Roddam, I swear it!” Quetza called to him.

The old man did not respond, continuing to walk away. Quetza imagined he was thinking that a pirates word meant nothing, or something of the sort.