CAPTAIN CREST

The sun hit Eyrl in the face much like a club made of steel would hit a ripe fruit: overly destructive and unwelcome. He groaned and tried to bury his head into his wife's bosom, but she wasn't there to provide shelter from the cruel joke of daylight on a hangover.

Eryl thought back to last night, but the haze of alcohol clouded everything after Pestus's visit. It was distressing in that Eryl could not recall ever having a second drink. The pain in his head told him, from prior experience, that he had to have had at least four. He sat up confused and a little unnerved.

"Beehive? Sweetie?" He groaned, the sound of his own voice somehow echoing off the walls back at him, louder. No response. Even the usual din of the tavern downstairs was absent. Rising from the bed, nude, Eryl carefully and slowly investigated the room with one eye. The other had not yet agreed that it was time to wake.

The room was clean. Too clean. His things were gone and so were Bridgette's. His heart started to race. Turning back to the bed, hoping against hope that somehow he had missed Bridgette laying next to him, he caught sight of the journal. The bed was somehow made, the journal laying atop the fresh white linens. It wasn't blood spattered, though. It looked new, clean, and it made his breath catch in his throat. Something was very wrong with the whole situation. And then the journal opened.

Bridgette rushed down the stairs, her robe hastily thrown on over bedclothes. She practically ran over to her friends but the look on her face changed from mild worry to heavy concern as she looked around the room, confused. She ignored Belvar's greetings and half of Vinda's introductions to the strangers at the bar. Bridgette interrupted with an illusionary image of Eryl's face above her hand and a questioning look on her face.

"What do you mean?" Vinda asked, reading the extreme concern on her friend's face. "He's with you. You haven't seen him leave his room or come down here at all?"

"He wasn't in bed when you awoke?" Belvar asked. Bridgette shook her head, concern turning to fear in her stomach. She backed up a step and ran back for the stairs. She could hear somebody following but didn't look back to see whom. Her hand touched the latch for room 13 and a shiver ran up her spine. She could feel a slimy, slick magic on the other side of the door.

She tugged on the latch but it felt stuck. Her mouth opened but Eryl's name did not come out. Last night's dream was terrifyingly coming true, she was sure of it now. She had woken up in a shock that morning, the dream still lingering in her mind, unforgettable. She was sure that when he wasn't in bed next to her, he had actually been taken by the ugly form her mind had conjured up. The sounds of voices downstairs had eased her worry and with hope in her heart she leapt up and hurried down to see him. Now, all of those fears were back. Something had taken a hold of her husband, and she felt powerless to rescue him. A silent cry escaped her lips as she tried in vain to yell for him.

Lights filled Eryl's vision, and sounds pounded at his ears. He thought his head would explode. His hands clutched his ears and pressed at his skull, trying desperately to hold it together against the building pressure. Then, from the other side of the door, came Bridgette's voice. She was yelling his name. She sounded frightened and panicked. It didn't even register with him that he hadn't heard her silky voice in what seemed like ages. He clung to the joyous and comforting sound like a rock in a torrent. The journal shook and jumped on the bed, and for a moment he thought he saw a purple hand reach out of it towards him.

Suddenly though, just as Belvar reached the space next to Bridgette and put a hand on her shoulder, the door opened. Eryl stood, blanket wrapped around his waist and legs, running a hand through his hair.

"Did the door get stuck? What's going on?" he asked through a haze of sleep. Bridgette's eyes widened and a single tear of relief fell onto her cheek. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Eryl's middle, nearly dragging Belvar along.

"What? No, really, what's going on?", concern touched Eryl's voice for a moment before he pulled his wife close against him. "Beehive, what's wrong? Did you have a nightmare too?" Bridgette nodded and wept silently against his bare chest.

"Well." Belvar faltered, unsure of anything that had just transpired. "I will leave you two in peace.'' he said as he turned to rejoin the others.

Downstairs, rumors flew back and forth as Pestus explained Bridgette's lack of voice and mastery of illusion to the three at the bar. Vinda stood ready for trouble, back stiff, hands near weapon grips. Captain Crest watched the stairs for any sign of the woman's return. The hooded figure sat calmly, and Kilmal rolled his eyes, obviously bored with the whole affair. Belvar returned, hands up with a smile, as if to say 'everything is fine, everybody, no need for concern'.

"Was he there?" Pestus asked.

"What's happening?" Vinda demanded.

"It's all okay, now. From what I gather, they both had nightmares and Bridgette's mind had raced away with her." He chuckled at the idea of her somehow not knowing he was in the room with her.

"I'm certainly glad to hear. The young lady looked genuinely shocked at her husband's absence." Crest spoke up, then took a pull from his nearly empty tankard.

"Aye. Can we go, now, Captain?" Kilmal grumbled. "I have a sudden desire to return to the Eastlands."

"Oh? The wilds calling your name already?" the Captain replied.

"More action there. Far less talking.", the dwarf huffed, hopped off of the stool, grabbing his axe in one fluid motion and walked towards the door. Pestus had to dart out of the way of the man for fear of being slowly trampled. The robed figure spoke at last.

"I will follow him, Captain." The voice was hard to describe. It was airy and feminine, but seemed to come from everywhere underneath the robe. It reverberated exactly the same way a normal voice does not. Everything about P'yar screamed 'powerful wizard' to those present. Pestus moved out of the way preemptively this time, Belvar bowed out of respect, and even Vinda gave a wide berth as the robe moved, almost glided, towards the door.

A moment passed in silence, Captain Crest shrugging at Vinda in regard to his companions. Bridgette and Eryl finally descended the stairs and joined the group, arm in arm and fully dressed. Vinda relaxed at last.

"Hello, all!" Eryl called happily. "Who's ready to make money off of the dead?" A small cheer went up from Pestus and Belvar. Vinda crossed her arms and eyed Severin.

"Should we wait on your friends or just show you the city alone?" she asked, trying her best to sound impatient.

"I think that Mr. Rusthammer and P'yar will be fine on their own." Crest responded, putting his very fine hat on top of his head and adjusting it just right. "The goods are mine to sell, anyway. Let us be off, Miss Eselbress." He offered her his elbow, but thought better of it quickly and lowered his arm.

"And who is our new friend?" Eryl asked, intrigued.

"Goodness, me, how rude." Crest stood tall against his faux pas before bowing deeply, taking his hat off and swishing it in the bow. "My name is Severin Crest. I am Captain of the exploratory vessel, The Truest Course. At your service." Eryl lit up. He had always had a flair for the dramatic, and saw in Severin a kindred spirit.

Eryl gave his own deep bow, and Bridgette even curtsied as best she could without letting go of the tight grip she had on Eryl's arm. "Eryl Beldin, my wife, Bridgette, and I believe you have met the rest of Eryl Beldin's Traveling Adventure Company."

"Changing the name again, are we?" Pestus asked with a smirk.

"Like our fortune, our merry band is always in a state of change." Eryl replied with a Belvar-grade toothy smile.

~~3 DAYS EARLIER~~

The boat lurched and swayed underneath their feet, the storm raging, water from the heavens acting as if it had an active objective of sinking the ship, which the ship hardly noticed. Kilmal hung on for dear life to the railing with one hand, and his axe with the other. Captain Crest yelled at his drenched crew to hold it together against the storm. They abided, as they always did.

"Why do I ever listen to you?" Kilmal shouted over the pounding rain. If Severin heard him he didn't let on. "Dwarves belong underground, not on the water!"

"You belong where the Captain orders you to belong." P'yar bluntly responded, moving gently towards the stocky, seasick warrior, floating as if not connected to the swaying deck boards.

"I don't need your lip, or whatever it is you have. I'm registering a formal complaint!" This time, his voice most definitely caught the captain's attention. Severin Crest turned on his heel, water pouring off of his jaunty hat.

"Mister Rusthammer, you will assist Gruul with those lines or you will vacate my ship this instant!", came a booming, magically enhanced voice from the captain's mouth. Kilmal jumped as high as a dwarf could muster and jogged off towards the aforementioned crew member to help with ropes and sails or whatever it was that kept this gods-forsaken boat moving. Even P'yar's robe flapped in shock.

"P'yar," the voice continued to boom over the storm, "if at all possible, do something about this storm. I'm going to check our cargo." P'yar drifted towards the front of the ship quickly.

In a small room just off of the Captain's quarters was a large wooden box with heavy metal straps holding it shut in every conceivable way. It shook lightly, and creaked against the strain of whatever was held within, audible over the pounding rain and the slosh of waves. Severin placed his hand on the top of the jittery package and closed his eyes against the sounds of wind and rain, the ebb and flow of the ocean, and the unstillness of his surroundings.

Calm, he thought to himself. Calm like a pond with no ripples. Energy pulsed through his hand, into the box, and it seeped deep into the wood, affecting the contents inside. It fought back, desperately not wanting to calm. Severin's mind ached at the intruding spell, picking away at his concentration. Blood tickled out of his nose, even as the box shook less and less. The spellwork from both sides continued for several minutes, while above, P'yar used magics of their own to quell the raging storm.

By the time Severin woke up, laying on the floor, the storm had either fallen to P'yar or they had passed it. Either way, he was glad at the respite. It would take a while to clean himself up. If the state of the floor he found himself on was any indication, his face was a bloody mess. Damn my nose bleeds, he thought, wiping his sleeve across his mouth.

Rather than look at the blood on his arm, for he detested the sight of his own life force outside of where it belonged, he kept both eyes on the box, warily. He counted two cracks in the straps that held it down. On the whole it was still secure, but if the contents were to attempt escape to such a degree again, Severin knew it would not hold.

When the pounding on the door came, Captain Crest realized he had been watching the box for any sign of movement for far longer than he had realized, and almost jumped out of his skin. He double checked the spells, locks, and straps before shutting the door to his closet and called out to what was surely a grumpy dwarf on the deck of his ship.

"Yes, what?"

P'yar responded, "I was unsure if all was well. I have kept the crew busy with repairs but they have been asking where you are now that the work is done.” The work was done? How long had he been on the floor? Hours at minimum, a day and a half more likely.

“Our package is quiet, for now. How did we fare through the storm?” Crest sniffled and wiped at his face, suddenly aware of how dried the blood he had spilled had become.

“We are docking at Maydale shortly, Captain.” The subtle concerned lilt to P'yar's voice was barely noticed. Severin did the mental math and looked out towards what should have been a wide open sea, but was instead mostly coastline. If they were already here, he had been out for almost three full days.

“P'yar,” the Captain started, his voice low and scared. “Your brother is growing frighteningly more powerful.”

“Yes, Captain. Dispelling his storm was more difficult than I anticipated.” P’yar stated quietly. Severin looked back towards the closet door that held what was now a bigger threat than he was ready for. “You should clean yourself up, sir, you look a mess. I will let the crew know you are preparing for landing.”

“Thank you, P'ya-”

“No, Captain.” The voice interrupted. “Thank you. And I apologize for my.. package's issues. Once we land I will handle him myself. I believe causing such a massive storm sapped his energy. And stopping him has sapped you of yours. I am still unsure of how I will ever repay you for-”

“Aht.” It was the elf's turn to interrupt with a hand held up and a soft look into the dark hood in front of him. The dark hood stared back and nothing more needed to be said on the subject of thanks. “If we are near land, then we are near the end. If you need anything from me, please let me know. Once this is over, I hope you’ll consider my offer.”

“If I live through the ordeal, I will.” For the first time, the Captain could detect sadness in P’yar’s voice.

~~LATER THAT DAY~~

The cart of merry adventurers plodded along the roads of Maydale, growing lighter with each stop. Art pieces were left with Danvo the appraiser, their value added to the Order’s account once the work was done. Valuable metals were sold to Stanley Wubble at his distribution center, where it would be melted down and sold to local crafters for use or sent out into the world for profit. Magical items were given to Sprocket the half-gnome wizard, to verify and secure before selling them himself to those he was sure knew could handle such things. Raw coinage was deposited into the Order’s coffers at the Maydale Adventuring Guild, and anything else was bartered, traded, gifted, or sold through the sprawl of vibrant activity that was Maydale’s Marketplace.

The commercial sector of the city ran in a crescent shape on the North-East edge of the center, where politics and government was seated. Sure, there were stores and businesses dotted along the whole of the place, but the market was where you went to sell anything and everything all in one curved line. Near the end of this trip, which often started at a shop that sold hot hand pies and would end at a pub named The Pickled Orc, Severin finally spoke up after hours of merely observing and asking the occasional question.

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“There wouldn’t happen to be an information broker someplace, would there? Nothing seedy, mind you. I have maps to sell and we had planned on landing much further South than we did, so I’m afraid I don’t know who would take them.” Severin held his hands out in a half shrug, turning to face each of the Emerald order in turn, lingering on Vinda at the end.

“Blot.”, came the voices of Eryl, Pestus, and Vinda at once.

“I’m sorry what?” Severin blinked, unsure of what he had heard. The three looked at each other as if determining who should speak, Vinda’s glare at the others answering the question.

“Blot.” Vinda repeated, crossing her arms, doing her damnedest to look tough and annoyed at the question, pushing her excitement to be of help to the man down, down, below her warrior’s mask. “He’s an old goblin who pays for news and information. Sells it to somebody else who can spread it around. He’s alright, but you’ll want to take Belvar with you. Blot demands proof of truth.”

“Proof of-” Severin started, as Belvar stepped forward, answering the question before it was asked.

“I can cast a spell that prevents falsehoods from being spoken. Blot refuses to do business without it. As long as you can truthfully say your maps are accurate as far as you know, and that you aren’t just selling him lies, we will get you paid, friend.”

“Excellent.” the Captain replied after a half-moment of thought. “I appreciate the help.” He chuckled and sighed, his shoulders loosening in relief. “I really am so grateful to have met you all.” His eyes lingered on Vinda’s face but returned to the rest of them before catching her reddening cheeks.

“As are we!” Eryl chirped in. “There’s nothing better than working together with fellow seekers of excitement and wonder.”

“Except that girl who stole our tents.” Pestus grumbled.

“And the diviner that used us to get back at his ex.” Vinda added.

“And the troupe of dancers who tried to lead us into a trap.” Belvar chuckled at the memory.

“Alright,” Eryl admitted, “I suppose there’s plenty of better things than working together with.. whatever I said, but nothing more welcome than it not ending in some horrible traitorism.”

“And that won’t be the case here.” Vinda stated matter-of-factly. “We are under the old oath, are we not, Captain?” Her voice wanted to sound reassuring to her party, but she heard an almost pleading need for reassurance as it passed her lips.

“Very much so.” Severin gave a small bow to Vinda and returned to standing straight, arms behind his back. It was the posture of a captain giving a speech to his crew. “I take the old oath seriously, and I counted on you doing the same. I offered it in good faith and I don’t plan on regretting it. I trust you all, and hope you’ll do the same of myself and my crew. In fact, I’ll put it this way: If any of you ever feel the desire for a life on the sea, I extend an offer to join my crew. As such, I consider you all part of my crew from this point on and with that, you are all protected by the Pirate’s Code.”

Blank stares and a raised eyebrow were the group’s response.

“What’sat?” Pestus asked.

“The Pirate’s Code is the list of laws that pirates follow.” Severin began, “It’s very short and boils down simply to how all of the kindness and respect you choose not to show the world by being.. you know, a thieving murderous pirate, should be given to your crew. All of it. Everything a pirate would do to a stranger or an enemy can not and shall not ever be done to a crewmate. No stealing, no fighting, no disrespect. Never turn on a crewmate for personal gain. It is one of the few things I carry forward in my life from my more.. wild years.” He chuckled a single ‘hmph’ and stared at the ground for a moment, lost in memory before returning to the now and finishing his thought. “The point is,” Severin extended his arms out, indicating the group as a whole. “I will follow the pirate’s code with you. I may not be a dirty sea dog anymore, but I swear to be as loyal and true as any pirate should be to their shipmate.”

“So..”, Pestus started, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “We’re.. pirates now? I’m lost.”

“I believe the Captain is making a vow that we are under the protection of pirate law from he or his crew bringing us harm.” Belvar moved forward and put a large, armored hand on Crest’s shoulder. “A fine gift, and one returned in kind. I shall follow this Pirate’s Code with you, Captain Crest. Now, let’s be off and get you paid as well. To Blot’s!”

Severin paused, looking up at where Belvar’s head had been before he started to march off. He hadn’t realized just how tall the dark elf was, but once Belvar was standing next to him with the impressive weight of a hand big enough to grab his entire head on his shoulder and he had to crane his neck just to see the man’s mouth, Severin understood why Belvar had been assigned the day’s duty of standing up front, close to whomever the group was wheeling and dealing with. With a quick sweep of his hat off his head and a deep bow to the others, Severin rushed off to catch up with Belvar’s long, self assured stride.

Blot’s place was in the back of a hat shop, on a side road that was nearly empty except for a pair of tattoo covered dark elf women and a man dressed head to toe in black. They were joined by a man and woman leaving the shop shortly before Severin followed Belvar in.

“Hello!” the man cheerily exclaimed as Severin passed by. Severin tipped his hat before taking it off as they entered. A door behind the counter guarded by an old man in a rocking chair was Belvar’s destination and after what seemed like a conversation of random madness, Severin realized that Belvar and the man had exchanged code phrases. The man sprung from his seat and led them down a flight of stairs to a locked door. Several incorrect keys later, the captain and the dark elf stood in a large room, divided down the middle by a fence made of metal wires. A table stood in the center, its top crossing through a hole in the fence.

On their side, the room was nearly empty except for a dirty rug and candles. On the other side, the walls were lined with scroll shelves, books, notes, and a large desk at which sat a goblin, writing in a book.

Severin had never actually seen a goblin in person before, and had always expected them to be wild, animalistic things that only vaguely resembled a person. Contrary to every story he had heard, before him sat what looked like any old man, but with greenish-blue skin, long pointed ears that were tied back around the sides of his head, fangs that barely jutted out pushing the lower lip back, wisps of gray hair in a vague shape of mutton chops, who was easily under 3 feet tall and wore a monocle. An older, greener, Pestus. Severin thought. How could people think this is a monster of any kind?

Blot noticed the two with a start, and screeched, flailing his arms and just about falling out of his chair. Severin recoiled, the noise answering his question. It sparked some deep primal fear inside of him and he could imagine the noise an entire army of goblins could make sending warriors running home.

“AAAH! No scare! Ring bell! Ring bell, old man!” Blot jumped from his seat with a speed that Severin didn’t expect and grabbed a broom, quickly raising it up and knocking on the ceiling with the handle. “Bell! BELL!” The goblin turned his eyes to the two. The goblin’s eyes were.. wrong somehow. The pupils were huge, only a hint of color around the edges and the whites of his eyes only visible if they were looking off to the side. Having those eyes stare directly at him made Severin’s heart race. He understood now why goblins were considered monsters.

Severin glanced at Belvar for any sign of fear. Belvar stood tall and grinning as always. Severin took solace in the fact that Belvar had stated his intent to follow the code and slowly turned his head to face the thing on the other side of the table, steeling himself for whatever deep ancestral fear might rise up within him.

“Want or have?” Blot asked calmly, his voice less screechy but still having that wild high pitch to it, standing at his end of the table. His eyes were intense and reflected the candle light as little wavering dots. Severin did his best to note the goblin’s relaxed body language more than the look of a hungry animal watching its prey.

“Have, my dear sir.” Belvar started. Severin only flinched a little as Belvar’s booming voice filled the room. “This is Captain Severin Crest. He has maps from an expedition to the East to share. I will provide his proof of truth as a cleric of Artak.”

“Yes, yes, maps. Give give.” Blot waved them closer. Severin swallowed hard and tried not to think too hard about how excessively long the goblin’s fingers were or how thick its nails were. Ever the progressive, Severin had employed many orcs before, never falling into the all-too-common practice of judging an individual by their race, but something about Blot put the childish fear of a monster under your bed in his mind. This was a creature made for violence, part of a swarm that would tear and rip and devour.

Severin fished out the roll of maps from his pack and cautiously placed them on the table, pushing them forward through the hole. He flinched again when he felt Belvar’s hand on his shoulder and heard a low chanting. Magic swept into him and rather than fight it, he allowed it to take him. He did, although, take note of its effects as his mind’s eye watched it flow though his body. He felt more relaxed, which was nice. He wondered why a truth spell would relax somebody, but when another spell slipped in as well, he realized that Belvar had merely been calming him first before applying the spell that would prevent lies.

“This map was drawn by myself and no other. It documents a journey into the wilds of the Eastlands and has many notes and markers that may be of use. This I swear.” Severin heard himself say, guided by the spell. Belvar’s hand remained on his shoulder.

Blot adjusted his monocle and reached out without looking to grab another map, unrolling it next to Severin’s. His long, clawed finger traced lines on each map and he mumbled to himself before speaking.

“New map add, yes, but different here. Why change? Who lie?”, the accusatory glace that came with the question made the stalwart sea captain feel like a child in trouble with a violent father.

“No lie.” Severin leaned closer to see the difference in the maps and explained, “On our journey this path was closed, a rock slide had blocked the valley. It must have happened after your map was made. Looks like having to move further North sent us to uncharted territory after all.”

“What is blank spot? Why nothing here in trees?” Blot asked, tapping a circle drawn around nothing in the middle of a collection of tree shaped lines.

“I made a promise.” Severin stood up tall and proud. “I will not lie, I know what is in that area, but to protect those who call it home, I vowed to not add it to my maps. I had thought of putting a sign of danger there but realized I would be untruthful in doing so. I ask humbly that you forgive me, and not to ask about that area.” His conviction was making him bold, even in the face of fear.

Blot grumbled and nodded, eyes back on the maps. The older map was crushed and crumpled, tossed aside with a speed and ferocity that Severin had to willingly not jump at. Belvar chuckled, which Severin couldn’t decide was reassuring or not.

“New map good. I take. What want for pay?” the goblin asked calmly, now rolling the map up and placing it gently where the old one had been in a shelf.

“Information, please.”

“Three questions. Any info you want I give, but only three. If no answer here, I find.” His work done, Blot now stood straight, hands behind his back. Severin tried to concentrate on his striped vest and little pants rather than the eyes which he just now noticed seemed too big for the goblin’s head.

“I uh..”, Severin paused and looked at Belvar, who was staring off at a blank wall, closed mouth grin on his face. He’s giving me privacy. Severin thought. Gods, I am glad I met these people. “I wish to know of fairies in Huryon.”

“None.” came a quick reply. “All hunted for their hearts. No fae in Huryon for many years.”

“Why?” Severin felt himself asking and flinched at knowing he had used his second question unwittingly.

“Fairy hearts ingredient for magic. Chaos magic. Make weapon or drink with crazy power, not know what it do until you do it.” Blot nodded to himself, confident in his answer.

“Is..” Severin began, but paused, wording his final question carefully. “Is there a place in Huryon that would be safe for a fairy, or group of fairies to live? Somewhere they would be protected?”

Blot stood still, his eyes moving side to side as if reading some invisible book in front of him. His face scrunched up before he answered, “Unknown. Will find out for you.”

Severin realized that Belvar had taken his hand away at some point and was now waiting by the door. Turning back to Blot to thank him, he jumped a step back seeing the goblin now up against the fence, staring at him with purpose now, eyes squinting, almost inspecting him.

“Well, ah, thank you very much, Mr. Blot.” Severin hurriedly bowed and backed away towards Belvar, whom he could hear opening the door for them.

“Emancipator.” Blot said quietly, and without the screeching tone he had been using. Severin froze at his old pirate title. “From your questions, I now know what lies in the empty space on your map.” It was chilling to hear the goblin drop the pretense of not being able to use full sentences. Severin wasn’t sure if this proof of higher intellect was more or less terrifying. “I will not share this information with others, as it was not freely given, but information is my currency and I now owe you another answer. I do not like having debts.”

Severin paused, frozen almost. He looked from Belvar, who held the door open a crack but pretended to be oh-so interested in the ceiling, back to Blot, a creature, nay, a person who continued to surprise and shock both himself and his predispositions. He thought in the thick silence that enveloped them for a good minute before asking Belvar to meet him outside. Severin would need actual privacy for his last question.

The walk back to The Pickled Orc, where the group had agreed to meet, was a quiet one. Belvar asked nothing, but gleefully hummed a tune until Severin broke the wordlessness.

“Thank you, Belvar. Your kindness rivals that of any I’ve ever come across. I truly appreciate your help. And the calming spell you gave me.” Severin chuckled.

“I try my best to be kind to all, friend. Blot can be a shock for people. When you deal with so much truth, he told me once, the value of hiding what the truth is becomes apparent. He likes to test new folk with the wild goblin bit. I’m not surprised he dropped it with you. You did wonderful.”

“Yes, well. Shock is putting it lightly. First goblin I’ve ever met and I can’t decide if I’d ever like to meet another or not.” Severin adjusted his hat against the afternoon sun. Belvar laughed loud enough to make several people nearby jump.

The Pickled Orc was a grimey dive, not at all what Severin expected from the city he had been learning about all day. The others were sat at a large circle table full of food and waved the two over after they entered. The smell, Severin decided, was perhaps where the place got its name from. Orc sweat was a near weaponizable thing, potent and sharp, and working on a ship with several orcs meant that it was a smell you had to get used to, but this place seemed to seep the stench out of every crevice along with the vinegary smell of pickled foods. It wasn’t until he sat down between Eryl and Vinda, who had thrown Belvar a dirty look when he tried to take that particular chair, that he saw what he had missed next to the door in the corner of the room: a large glass tank filled with a pale green liquid and an entire orc suspended within. Severin’s eyes widened and Eryl noticed him staring.

“Ah, right. The actual pickled orc.” Eryl pointed at it as if it weren’t somehow the strangest thing Severin had experienced today. “That orc died in a fight over ownership to his son. The whole pull of the place is that the previous owner always gets pickled. I do not recommend ordering it as your drink, unless you are very accustomed to orc cuisine.” Eryl chuckled and the table joined in, laughing lightly at both the tale and Severin’s frozen expression of disbelief.

“How did it go?” Vinda asked between bites of chicken from her plate. Her helmet was off and what hair was long enough to stick to her forehead with sweat, had. Severin turned and decided she was a much better sight than a pickled orc, and smiled uncontrollably.

The tale was told and laughs were had. Apologies for not preparing him were made, but as Pestus put it, ‘You have to experience Blot on his own terms first’. A meal was shared and stories were told until Eryl groaned and hunched over. Bridgette put her hands on his side and gave a worried look to the group.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a twinge in my back. Not as young as I used to be.” Eryl tried to joke, but the pain in his voice was obvious. Bridgette conjured up an image of a steaming pool and gave Eryl a questioning look. “Yes. Yes, I think a trip to the spa would do wonders, my sweetest. We’ve all earned a good soak and some relaxation.”

The talk around the table turned to what everyone would do now that business was concluded and money wasn’t an issue. Eryl and Bridgette left to head towards the spa, a large building with a magically enchanted pool that promised a healing hot soak for weary adventurers. Belvar stated his intent to find every church in town and make a sizable donation, and with a final clap on Severin’s shoulder, he was off. Pestus claimed he had to offload what was still in his box and said he was taking the cart, giving what was left of the table a wink as he scampered towards the door. This left only Vinda and Severin, several empty plates and mugs, and the smell.

Vinda cleared her throat, “Where did the dwarf and the uh.. P’yar end up going? Are they alright?”

Severin blinked, and wondered how long he had been staring at her before answering. “Ah, Kilmal is off finding a deep mug of ale, I assume. P’yar has business on the ship. I have to imagine that the whole crew has found something in Maydale to occupy them for the time being.”

“And,” her voice was quieter now, “when will you be sailing off again, Captain?”

“No plans to, yet.” He smiled at her and when she returned the grin, his only grew. “I’d very much like to explore Maydale more, if you’d be so kind as to escort me around?” It was the first time Severin caught Vinda blushing.