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Post by Stormwall on Jan 14, 2015 15:39:45 GMT -5
"Like your ladies big, do you." Stormwall sloshed the dregs of his wine-bottle. "Deep draught -- you're no coast-runner or river-boat. How far do you venture? Terebinthia and the Lone Islands, I assume, but Galma? Maybe the Seven Isles? Or maybe there's other lands to the east, lands my people have forgotten. Tell me how far you go." Ardeeb Tarkaan |
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Post by Ardeeb Tarkaan on Jan 15, 2015 9:37:13 GMT -5
‘The Anacreon.’ Ardeeb proclaimed proudly. He poured them both another cup, before starting to speak in a warm and rhythmic cadence. Some of the closer members of the crew leaned in to listen, others groaned getting themselves another drink, probably because they had heard this story so many times already, or had participated even. 'She was destined to serve the Maharaja of Azimbalda as his flagship. Azimbalda, a land-locked city deep in the Calormene Empire. The Maharaja simply wished a new toy, one which he could visit every once in a while to look at it, but never use. Such a fate seemed cruel to me, and so I stole into the night with a few trusty comrades of mines and... liberated the ship.'
The Bastard smiled at that particular memory, before continuing. 'We switched it out for a pleasure barge, the shipwrights were too scared to notify the Maharaja, and when his Excellency saw the Barge? He wasn't sure if his wrights were playing a joke with him, or if he simply wasn't aware of proper ship construction. As to not show his ignorance, he simply accepted the prize and went on his way.' Ardeeb scratched his chin and took a sip from his glass. 'Or so I am told.'
'As far as we can, Master Centaur. We have been in many exotic places, their names forgotten, civilizations live and die just out of our reach. The Tisroc likes to think that his Empire is the center of the world, the Witch Queen enjoys to pretend she rules the world, but the truth... is vastly different. Galma, the Seven Islands, Terebinthia, the Lone Islands and more, my friend. So much more.'
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Post by Stormwall on Jan 15, 2015 12:20:25 GMT -5
For the first time in a long, long time, Stormwall found himself laughing -- laughing so hard he wiped his eyes. "Now there's a liberation I could get behind. Where I'm from, the only wealthy one is the Witch, the Queen, and there's little point to liberating her finery. Doesn't stop you from wanting to, though. It's an itch that gets in your bones, a resentment that needs an answer. You have my blade, Captain. I'm called Stormwall."
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Post by Ardeeb Tarkaan on Jan 15, 2015 12:25:21 GMT -5
‘Very good.’ the Captain nodded solemnly at the offering of a name. One doesn’t simply extend a name, it was a sign of trust to some degree, even here in the bustling Empire men and women understood this general concept. ‘Ardaab. They call me the Bastard, for some reason.’
Ardaab knew exactly why they called him the Bastard, but some things weren’t shared over the first two cups of wine. Perhaps a third, and so he raised his hand to the inn keep.
‘A round for everyone, we have a new crewman to celebrate.’
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Post by Stormwall on Jan 15, 2015 12:28:29 GMT -5
So the captain was too tipsy to pronounce his own name correctly. Presumably Stormwall had caught the name 'Ardeeb' while overhearing conversation between other crewers. But he accepted the proffered wine without comment, and toasted the captain's health. Once his belly was warm-
"So when do we put out to sea, and where are we bound?"
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Post by Ardeeb Tarkaan on Jan 15, 2015 12:38:22 GMT -5
Or perhaps his writer was simply a noob, both were very distinct possibilities. ‘We have just returned from a trip to Terebinthia, the day after tomorrow we are setting sail to Tashbaan. There are some… affairs I have to settle there.’
‘Have you ever been to the capital of the Calormene Empire, Stormwall?’
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Post by Stormwall on Jan 15, 2015 12:42:15 GMT -5
He drained the human-sized cup to the dregs. It would, at a guess, become clear to the estimable captain that what his newest sailor offered in brawn, he made up for in wine expenses. Doubtless the sight of a centaur relieving himself over the side of a ship would likewise weigh upon his future considerations.
"This is as far south as I've been, and that's not saying much. Will I be staying on the ship? I've got little desire to be knifed as a demon while you have your...affairs."
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Post by Ardeeb Tarkaan on Jan 15, 2015 12:45:54 GMT -5
Ardeeb gave him a look-over, probably reconsidering the amount of trouble the Centaur would probably be in expenses and sheer headaches. But that sword of his (no, not that sword, stop it.) would probably, hopefully make it slightly easier on the Bastard’s money stash. ‘Hmm, I suppose that would be for the best. You can stay and guard the ship against would-be ship exchangers.’ he shrugged and drained another cup. ‘If you decide to check-out the city either way, take some of the crew with you, calormene company might make it easier for you to be accepted, maybe.’
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Post by Stormwall on Jan 15, 2015 13:08:07 GMT -5
"A sound plan, Captain."
***
Things proceeded as things did. When Stormwall awoke the next morning, he was on the deck of a brigantine bound for Tashbaan, with harsh yellow Calormen sun in his eyes. His weapons had accompanied him, it seemed; the pelts, pointedly, had not. Knowing little of the actual craft of sailing -- he was here to fight things -- he found himself at the bottom of the pecking order, and learning the basics both quickly and harshly. That was all right: Things would even out. He'd find himself some respect once they saw him fight, and once he get the hang of sailing, and, for that matter, once they got even newer crew.
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Post by Ardeeb Tarkaan on Jan 15, 2015 15:09:28 GMT -5
Eventually the ship managed to dock, Ardaab organized security details and all the other details that needed to be done for that matter. Eventually he left for the city, there was business to attend to. Stormwall was left on the first rotational shift, he’d have to check-over the ship and was assigned for that job to one of the higher-ups, who would have to teach him the ropes.
If said higher-up felt like it. Stormwall would probably have to convince him somehow.
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Post by Stormwall on Feb 1, 2015 16:20:40 GMT -5
'Somehow' turned out to be a stiff glare, presaged by a week of sharpening blades in public. Also, moderate amounts of flexing when nobody but the higher-up was watching. You could, Stormwall had found, intimidate a pirate. You just had to be sure he didn't see anyone else around. Face was everything to men like this.
So Stormwall got a pretty decent rundown on how to check over a berthed ship, and this ship in particular. On the way into port, deckhands like himself had crammed various gaps with tar and rags, or loose cordage. Now he checked those stopgaps for signs of pests -- rats, thieves and stowaways seeking entrance by less visible means than the deck's blind spots. Never one for swimming, he'd had the chance to hone his skills in that respect over the last little while, which let him check the hull for barnacles and worse below the waterline. He scraped them off with a broad flat blade, and let them sink into the Great Calormen River. A dozen other chores and precautions constituted his duties while he waited for the captain's return.
He was engaged in splicing rope and watching the upriver docks when the captain returned.
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