We return once more to...
[M'Riss, Secluded Beach]
The Rakash makes his way down the isolated beach, finally arriving at a battered leather tent. The young man casually pulls aside the flap, as if the owner of the structure were expecting him.
Inside the cramped tent are several scavenged pieces of shipwrecks and refuse from fishing boats. A horribly mended net is strung up in the corner as a makeshift hammock, anchored to splintered oars which are repurposed to serve as tentpoles. Stacked in one corner of the room is a pile of faded and worn navigation charts.
The Rakash barely registers the sound, but does so with enough time to pull his own blade to meet the one already in motion towards his back.
CLANG!
Metal meets metal as the hermit's strike is deflected by the dark glaes blade the Rakash carries. Both quickly shake off the initial skirmish and ready themselves once more for the face-off.
Charging at each other, their blades meet again, this time locked against one another with the force of their wielder driving them away. Neither seems willing to give in the slightest as their faces twist in a grimace of exertion and force. They stare deeply into each other's eyes, searching for a sign of weakness or situation to exploit. They find none.
The scavenger is the first to break. Quickly taking a step back he asks, "Still got the fire in you, boy?"
"Yes, drifter. I've got all that and more." the Rakash replies. "Still not willing to join on to my crew?"
The rag-covered hermit laughs.
"I see," the Rakash says sharply, obviously not comfortable with being mocked."Well then, how about you do something else useful for me."
The hermit tilts his head curiously at the young man standing in his home. The last time their paths crossed he was a scavenger too, scrounging the beaches looking for sailcloth and rope. They had traded from time to time, and he always made for a good sparring partner. However, the status seems to have changed of late. His manner and dress are... different. Perhaps it is his time at sea that has changed the boy into a young man. Perhaps.
"Well..." the Rakash says impatiently.
"I'm just waiting for you to tell me your situation, boy. I'm all ears." the scavenger replies.
"You have nothing but ears, Elf." the Rakash says with a grin," And since you will not accompany me, I have need of your knowledge."
"I have come into possession of a map, though I do not know the area it depicts. I was hoping you, or those..." he says as he points a thumb over at the pile of navigation charts. "Might be able to help me."
"Well, well. What kinda map you have there, boy?" the scavenger says as he starts tossing his oyster knife from hand to hand. "Is it a treasure map?"
The young Rakash smiles widely. "That's what I'm hoping to find out."
The hermit pulls up two rotting crates, obviously used as chairs when needed, and the pair begin to discuss the scrap of fabric. They pour over various charts and logbooks in the tent, comparing the coastlines to the lines stitched on the cloth.
"Wait..." the hermit says, "Look at this."
The scavenger opens a long chart that depicts the coastline of Therengia, north of the Zaulfung. Inked in the lower right corner is the same symbol on the scrap of fabric, the screaming skull atop spears with music notes. There had to be some connection here.
"Do you know this symbol, old man?" the Rakash asks pointing at the crest in the corner.
"Yes. Actually I do." the hermit says with a smirk. "But it would seem you already owe me some money..."
The Rakash groans loudly in protest, yet still he produces several gold coins and drops them into the wrinkled hand of the scavenger. Turning them over one-by-one the old man inspects them for authenticity.
"Yes..." he finally says. "That symbol is the one used by a clan of pirates that used to be active in the Northern waters before the Red Sash muscled in. They were gypsies mostly, who grew tired of the land and set their sights on the seas."
The scavenger strokes his beard as if to jog his memory further.
"If words are true, they got themselves into a heap of trouble when they started raiding in Zoluren waters. The Therengians decided they had enough and sent their navy up along the coast. Them gypsies had no chance to get their cutters out to water, the navy galleons decimated them."
"Gypsies of the Northern Sea! That's what they called themselves." the scavenger says suddenly with triumphant glee.
"Yeah..." he continues. "Rumor had it that they intercepted something from Zoluren to Therengia, or maybe it was the other way around. Anyways, this thing was some kind of magic thing or whatever. Nobody really knew what it was, and you know how that makes everyone want it that much more."
Leaning forward over the chart, the two begin to compare the coastline to the cloth. Having found a match, the scavenger then begins copy the location and details from the scrap of fabric to the chart with a piece of charcoal from the small campfire inside the tent.
Looking up suddenly, the old elf gets a pained expression on his face. He drops the chart on the ground and reaches up with both hands to touch the front of his throat. Feeling the trickle of warm blood running down the point of the kaft tells him all he needs to know. The Rakash has taken advantage of his dropped guard and dealt him a killing blow. He struggles for air, but nothing makes it past the dark glaes puncturing his neck.
Blood soaks into the front of his shirt, spreading through the threadbare cloth quickly. The old hermit looks at the young Rakash, not with sadness but with pride as he falls over and leaves this mortal coil. The face of his attacker, however, is completely devoid of any emotion at all.
Not one to waste anything, the young man gathers up the contents of the small tent, being sure to pack away the charts and logbooks. Placing all the items of value or curiosity into a large crate, he proceeds to knock out all the battered oars causing the tent to collapse. In mere seconds, the small fire inside grows into a large inferno as it feeds on the dry wood and sailcloth.
Placing the crate on a makeshift sled of shattered deck boards, the Rakash begins the grueling task of dragging the junk all the way back to his vessel at Wharf's End.
"I suppose it's time to see about getting a crew..." the Rakash says with a grin, thinking of the last sordid lot to serve under his captaincy.
He'll have to put up with this one for awhile at least, no telling what they might encounter on the journey. Better to keep a watchful eye to what the future might hold.
* * *
The following day this notice is posted in a few of the taverns that sailors are known to frequent:
"Looking for a few good men (or women) to serve aboard the Raw Deal, a schooner serving as courier and escort for the private citizens of the islands. Experience at sea is a requirement and only those with sufficient knowledge of their trade will be accepted. This job may or may not involve combat, so please take that into consideration when applying."
A small gathering of sailors stands beside the sun-bleached schooner, they are obviously unimpressed by the rotting bucket of a ship that they are expected to serve upon.
"Look, people," the Captain says to the gathered faces. "I know she doesn't look like much, but trust me when I tell you that this is one of the finest vessels in the water. She's light, she's quick, and she cuts through waves like a bolt from a crossbow. Yes, she is a bit of an eyesore. I know. However, if you can manage to improve that I can make it worth your while."
The talk of money amongst a gathering like this always seems to change a dour mood into a jovial one. The Rakash has become skilled at speaking to crews like this, he entices them with wealth but reminds them of its cost. A precarious tightrope to walk, worse when out at sea. Talk of work and wages can be deadly when far removed from the shore. Mutinies can happen this way. It is best to get this sort of business on the table quickly so there are no surprises.
"My current orders are to go to Northern Therengia to pick up a package for a client living here on Mer'Kresh. I only have vague details available, so don't bother with asking allot of questions. Just follow my command and do your job. You will be paid handsomely."
"I expect there will be some shore time, as we locate and acquire the requested item. Though I am sad to say we will not make port anywhere near a town or city. We will be in uncivilized areas, and danger is definitely a possibility there. I personally doubt we'll have any problems at all and am highly confident this will be some of the easiest money any of us will ever make."
The Captain finishes with a question, "So who among you are ready to serve?"
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