Chapter 1: The Tasperian Dread

The night was dark and calm in the Port of Tortalan. This port is the pirates’ port, not owned by any of the great powers that are fighting for control of the islands in the Barccaen Sea. This is the place where Buccaneers or any crew who fly a jolly roger can dock their ship without the fear of it getting destroyed by the coastguard. However, Tortalan is not a peaceful place. There are plenty of fights that break out in the inns, brothels, and the streets only to stop when one side has been knocked out or, what happens most often, has died. However, it wasn’t noisy this night. The main inn, The Crossbones, had a small crowd in but most of them seemed to be more interested in their drinks and friendly chats than in starting fights. There is a table in the back with seven men playing a game of Deadman’s Bluff. They were also telling stories and legends of the sea, many fantastical tales. One legend that caught everyone’s’ attention was the Tasperian Dread. The old drewsier, Hartan, was the principal auditor of the tale. “This is a fearful ship, young laddies,” Hartan said while looking at the two young men at the table. “This ship seeks no gold or glory, only death upon those it crosses in the sea. Its crew is bloodthirsty, and they give no mercy to any person”. “I think bloodthirsty is an understatement Hartan” chuckled Davan, the ork at the table, while he shuffled the deck. “I don’t think that word even comes close to describing them” he continued as he dealt out the hands. Markel smiled and responded, “Then what is the best word for describing the crew since you seem to be the expert on them?” “No word can describe the cruelty of those men” Daven answered.

“You decided to take the helm for the task of defining them, then you abandon the ship.”

“Well, can you think of any words to describe them?”

“Let’s just leave it that they are horrible and move on.” Interrupted Hartan. “But you do make a point. The men on that ship are not just any horrible people. These men were too evil for Hell to take that Hadias threw them out, and so they sail the seas destroying whatever in their path.”

“Who captains the ship?” asked Marten, the younger drewsier at the table. “It must take someone really powerful to be able to control that crew.” Hartan turned to him and said “Aye laddie. The captain is no mere man. He comes not from Gaia’s earth or Orucas’ sky. Instead, he is a demon with big horns from the seven realms of hell itself. Anyway, I’m staying in. What about you guys?” Hartan taps his cards on the table while waiting for everyone’s response. Jon, the other human at the table, looks at his hand and decides to fold. Markel chuckles a bit, “I’m staying in as well. I feel lucky tonight.” “Same with me” answered Daven. “Three men feeling lucky at the same table. I better not risk it; I fold” Marten grudgingly answers as he lays down his cards. The three remaining players look at each other, and Markel gives a moon sized grin. “Well gentlemen, are you ready to part with your shinies?” he said in a confident tone. Hartan, looking unamused, responded “I don’t know why you bother Markel. You have a terrible bluff. I can tell that you do not have a great hand.”

“That is where you are wrong. As you can see, I have a straight hand.”

“That is a good hand, but it is not great.” Hartan fans out his cards to show a straight flush. “Well hand over the money lads.” “Not so fast old man” Interrupted Daven. “I have been blessed by Orucas as I have been made royal.” Daven puts down his hand to reveal a royal flush. With one fell swoop, he pulls all the prize money to his side. “Well, you are pretty lucky as doesn’t it say that the only blessed race are the elves, and it is only the aismier who can still hold claim to this blessing?” Asked Jon. Harten turned his gaze to the young boy. He looked as though a painful wound from many years ago was hit. “You are quite right in saying that as it is told that Gaia created the humans from dirt and clay, and the orcs from stone. While Orucas created the elves from the heavens above and placed them upon the Earth. Then some apparently did something that caused Orucas to curse them with dark skin to forever signify their shame and to them lesser than the ones who stayed true. So, henceforth the cursed became known as the drewsier, and the loyal became referred to as the aismier.”

Jon stared at Harten with an astonished look. “Did….that actually happen?” he asked.

“I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care.” Hartan snapped. Daven puts his hand on Hartan’s shoulder to try and calm him. “Easy Hartan. The kid is just curious. Street rats like never been taught anything. So give him a break.” Hartan breathes out a sigh and picks up all the cards and shuffles them. Markel says as he gets up from the table: “Don’t bother dealing me a new hand. I have to get back to my ship. The captain wouldn’t be pleased if I stayed very late.” He takes what coins he has left and places them inside his pouch. Exiting the bar, he comes into the torch-lit streets. The paths were covered in old planks as the pub was close enough to the docks. As Markel made his way back to the docks to his ship, he saw the familiar sights one would see in a late night at a port. Drunks asleep in uncomfortable places; musty corners, wooden crates, and pig pens for the unlucky ones. There were some beggars on the streets with their arms out praying to any decent folk to give them some mercy. “They won’t have any luck here,” thought Markel, “Any who gave will already be dead.” He came to docks where there were a few ships docked. His ship was docked to the far right, close to the shipwright’s corner. The ship was a fair size. It is certainly big for a pirate ship. It may be smaller than most of the battleships that the empires use, but it would be on the larger side for a buccaneer crew. While most pirate ships relied on speed to catch its targets, this ship relied on its firepower to beat its targets. This certainly meant that they needed to be more tactical when attacking ships, but it did mean that they could raid some small port towns. Approaching the gangplank, Markel sees Harmen leaning on the side barrister beside the gangplank. Harmen was a dark-skinned human whose family are natives of the islands in the Barccaean Sea. “Well, you finally come back.” Harmen chuckled. “What?” Markel, chuffed “I’m back early for a change.”

“Early for you, but still you are the last one to return. Persania is going to be annoyed with you for not setting a good example.”

“What else is new! She always is annoyed with how I command or lead.”

“I know that, but it is important when the captain is getting tired of your tardiness.”

“Fine, I will talk to him and explain my actions.”

“Not now, he has just gone to bed. He told Persania that when you come back, we set sail immediately. I’m going to her the news now.”

“Ok, I will take watch for payment of being late. Before you go, is the coat finished?”

“Why yes, I have it right here.”

Harmen reaches down to a crate and takes a long white admiral coat from the top of it. The coat has many stitches on it showing all the scars it received from battles. “Thank you,” Markel said with gratitude “I miss not wearing it.” “Then you should stop wearing everytime wee board a ship” a voice howls at them. Markel turns around to see an aismier lady with long red hair braided into a single strand standing at the opposite side of the ship. “Hello Persania” Markel answers “As I was explaining to Harmen, I will take the first watch and I will talk to the captain in the morning.” Persania walks across the deck to Markel with an annoyed look on her face. “You very well that your position puts heavy responsibility on your shoulders. It doesn’t mean you can delay the departure of the ship just because you wanted to either get drunk, gamble, or bed some whores.” She snarled to Markel’s face. With an annoyed tone, Markel answered back: “Well, as you can see I am certainly not drunk,” while jiggling his wallet “I wasn’t at the brothel, and I may have been playing cards but have not come home broke for a change. How’s that for being responsible!” Taken aback, Persania shrugs her shoulders. “Ok, this is better than usual. I won’t stamp on your toes this time. Just remember the captain put us both in second of command, so just show him you are reliable.” “Will do.” While putting his coat back on. “You missed the stories they were telling.” Persania looking perplexed. “Oh, and what were they saying?”

“They were saying that the Tasperian Dread is captained by a Demon and it’s wake turns into flames as it sails in the seas.”

“Ridiculous, the stories are getting more far fetched by the year. You wonder if there is even a glimmer of truth in them anymore.”

“Well, we are still feared.”

Sharing a laugh between themselves, they move to different parts of the ship. Harmen goes to the rest of the men on deck to set sail, Persania goes into her the cabins to sleep and Markel walks to the bow of the ship. He leans on the banister at the left side of the bow. Underneath him from where he stood is the ship’s name printed onto the bow: The Tasperian Dread.