» Sat Mar 12, 2011 9:08 pm This is just the prologue to the story (a rather lengthy one at that), so you can get a feel for the character and how he lives before I launch into the main story (which I'll add onto the thread as I write it). I greatly appreciate constructive criticism, so don't be afraid, you won't hurt my feelings if you have a suggestion!
PROLOGUE
A great heavy fog laid its thick tendrils between the dilapidated shacks and outcrops of jagged rocks. Invading the tropical brush, the fog crept from the sea, squeezed through the canopy and covered the landscape in hazy mystery. The sun could be faintly seen as a disk of dull brilliance slinking up above the treetops in the east, illuminating the haze, and hiding the brilliant jungle skirting the coastal town.
Khajiits wandered out of their dwellings and squinted through the dense fog, trying to ascertain their surroundings, now covered in an unfamiliar veil. A single ominous bell toll resounded from somewhere close inside the enveloping fog, announcing the beginning of yet another day for the people of Jouket, the coastal slum located on the southern tip of Elsweyr. Slowly the town awakened to find the landscape attempting to stubbornly hold onto the fleeing shroud of night with the enclosing mass of clouds. But, the sun, working from behind the curtain of mist, was now banishing the waning fog from the lands. Soon, it would cast its luminosity upon the tropical forests, feeding the flora that craved its rays. The plants of the jungle, crowded under the canopy, competed with each other to reach the nourishment of life that the sun equally bestowed to every inch of the hemisphere.
Then with sudden shattering volume, a second bell rang throughout the town. Khajiits looked up from their morning rituals in surprise. Then a third rang, the bell toll rebounding off of the shacks and shrubbery of the small town. A fourth and fifth followed in quick succession, and with dreadful recognition the people of the town heard the final bell toll. It was an alarm, warning the town of an unwanted ship sailing towards the port. People climbed the roofs of their shacks and the peaks of the rocks littering the coast hoping to glimpse the unwanted visitor through the fog, but alas, the sun had yet to dissipate the fog yet. Only the lighthouse, where the bells had rung from, on a southern cape near the village could see over the deep clouds from its vantage.
A shadow could be glimpsed, drifting behind the translucent curtain. It floated towards the port with an indistinct silhouette. Abruptly it reached a break in the mist where the bow of the ship penetrated the silken cloud. A collective gasp of terror passed over the lips of the watchers as they recognized the infamous bow, a giant protruding spike wrought from a jet black volcanic rock, like a figurehead of menace and destruction. Gradually, out of the mist, the rest of the ship materialized; a carnivorous hulk of barbed wood and berserk winged sails that was the well-feared ravenous predator of the seas, the Legion Pandemic. And standing at the fore of the ship was Captain Spivey the Vehement, the most infamous pirate that had ever plagued the south-western seas.
Another round of bell tolls crashed through the village, setting in motion an organized panic of preparations. The men dashed to the barracks to grab weapons and armor, the women gathered the children and locked themselves into the shacks. The meager town guard assembled at the port, accompanied by volunteering men that proudly took up arms in the name of their small village. They all amassed into a rough formation on the wooden dock and waited in silence as the ship drew closer.
A silent spell hung in the air, like the pungent and incredibly suspenseful smell that foretells a coming storm. The piercing bow of the ship split through the mist accumulating on the water's surface and wafted the tendrils back to the sides of the ship only to get swept up by the massive sails and intimidating winged wooden shapes on the port and starboard. The men on the dock stared at the frightening ship as it loomed in upon them. As it got larger, the Khajiits on the ground could spot the pirates on deck, swinging to and fro, at work, with remarkable agility curling the sails and slowing the hulking ship before it crashed into the small docks that served as Jouket's port.
Finally the ship slowed to a stop alongside one of the five docks at the port. A large plank with jutting spikes on one end slammed into the dock with a sudden force and a dull crunch as the spikes grabbed hold of the rotten planks that served as the dock. Atop this plank, stood Captain Spivey; he cast his gaze upon the wretched band of ill-trained guards and townspeople, with tattered clothing made from skins and poorly crafted spears and swords. Abruptly breaking the silence that had plagued the air with stagnant suspense, he let out a maniacal laugh. The townspeople shifted nervously and glanced at each other as the inharmonious laugh shook their ear drums.
"You wish to fight me?" Again he let out a laugh. "I would love to take you up on that? challenge, but alas I have come to trade, not to pillage. Accept us into your village, and we will peacefully sell our treasures and buy your supplies, then be on our way before we become troublesome." The proposal sent shimmers of emotions through the townspeople, surprise, anger, disappointment, refusal, and acceptance among them. But, the one man that would have to make the fateful decision stepped foreword. Dro'Zahn, a well-built Khajiit wearing the skin of a spotted jungle cat and a face that was pierced with jewels that glittered in the newly rising sun as he scowled up at the notorious pirate. He held, with an air of confidence and purpose, a curved iron saber; and at this moment, he fingered the hilt, contemplating this new proposal. After a long few moments of consideration, Dro'Zahn spoke.
"I accept you into Jouket, on the basis of the following conditions." He paused to compose himself briefly. "One, you can only have a total of three men outside of your ship and in the village. Two, you will be accompanied by four of my guards at all times while in Jouket. And three, at the first indication of treachery of your word, even if you look at us the wrong way, then we will force you from this town and banish you forever." Glaring a challenge at Captain Spivey he requested, "Do you accept to these terms?"
"Yes," he announced as a smirk of triumph crossed his face. "Yes I do. I accept to your terms, and you can trust my word."
"Very well, you and your other two men can now enter this town." Then Dro'Zahn spun around and assigned four guards from the crowd to follow the new dangerous visitors. Some of the townspeople glared at Captain Spivey, doubting his word, and at Dro'Zahn disappointed at his decision. Nonetheless, the townspeople trusted that Dro'Zahn had thought the decision well-through, for he was appointed as their leader precisely for his diplomatic intelligence and strength. He must have seen the economic value that the pirates would hopefully bestow upon the town with their treasures.
The three pirates, with their vigilant tail of watchful guards, proceeded to walk through the town, attracting many curious crowds and terrified looks. Captain Spivey soaked in all of the attention and loved every bit of it. He liked to be feared, it gave him a great sense of authority that he had learned to relish in his long years as a pirate. This infamous power came at a price however, he could never be trusted, and trading became an extinct art for him. Everything he ever needed came off of the many merchant vessels that had the misfortune to cross his path on the high seas. However, the merchants this year had come particularly adept at avoiding his twisted sails. It would not be too great a problem if he only needed normal supplies, such as food; but he needed certain ship parts and unique supplies that could not be attained by pillaging or pirating. These supplies could only be attained by fairly large towns, like Joutek, which had a substantial defensive force that could not be easily overtaken with his few crewmembers. And land was not his ideal battlegrounds. So, the only other option was to trade with one of these merchants in the town.
The three pirates then spotted a small merchant shop through the thinning mist that looked shady enough for the stolen treasures they carried. As they entered, the guards waited outside the shack. The inside of the shop smelled of wild herbs, most likely because of the tangled collection of drying plants that hung from the ceiling. A single window, facing the south, sent morning rays illuminating the dust drifting through the small room. A grimy Imperial man with a long beard sat behind a counter with a knife shaving what looked like a wooden carving of a small head. As the pirates entered he looked up from his work in surprise, obviously, pirates were the last thing the merchant expected to walk through his door that morning.
Captain Spivey, a man of thirty-eight years, wore a ragged cloak stolen from a mage with glowing inscriptions, a black pirate hat, big boots that clanked on the wooden floors as he walked, and a mean grisly face with a close cut beard and crazed eyes. His men, carrying the treasure, were dressed likewise, and with equally stern expressions. These pirates would not hesitate to kill at Captain Spivey's orders. In fact, these two particular pirates had a certain fondness in the art of murder. They awkwardly held their blades in their sheaths, wishing to brandish the flesh-biting blades, but Captain Spivey's persistent "old wild eye" dissuaded them against any violent acts.
"You wouldn't mind buying our goods, now would you?" Captain insisted, unsheathing his deadly saber.
"Uh, not at all! Of course," the merchant announced as he jumped up from his seat, "now what do you have for me this morning?" A bead of sweat visibly dripped from his brow as he nervously eyed Captain Spivey's black blade.
"This," one of the pirates, an imperial by the name of Glundor, said as he hefted a chest of treasure and slammed it onto the counter. The merchant, forgetting the deadly sword, locked his eyes greedily on the glittering mass of precious antiquities dating as far back as he could think, gleaming Ayleid equipment, tiny ticking Dwemer trinkets, talismans to gods long forgotten, and golden coins that had once served to make Imperials in the north rich. A silver chalice, resting atop the mound of dazzling treasures visibly glowed in the shaft of light beaming from the window behind the merchant counter.
Licking his lips he said, "What do you want for it?"
"Every item on this list," Captain Spivey responded whilst sheathing his saber and handing the merchant a slip of parchment with a list of supplies and provisions he required. The merchant grabbed the list and read down the list, his brow furrowing the longer he read.
"I don't think I can even get any of these items?" the merchant wondered aloud.
"Well, in that case, we will have to go see if the merchant next door can do better," retorted Captain Spivey as he snatched the list out of the merchants hands and signaled to his men, who closed the lid of the chest, lifted it off of the counter and proceeded to follow Captain Spivey as he strutted towards the door. Shocked, the merchant watched the chest of beautiful treasures walk away from him.
"Wait!" he suddenly shouted. Captain Spivey stopped, a smile passing over his features momentarily, then turned towards the merchant again. The merchant, hoping to keep the pirates in his shop to make the deal said, "I can do it! I swear! I'll just have to make some deals with some other merchants and I'll have all the supplies for you by tomorrow afternoon."
"Now that is more like it." Captain Spivey affirmed, unclasping and opening the chest out of Glundor's arms, snatched the silver chalice, and threw it at the merchant, who caught it gleefully. "The rest is yours if you get the supplies on this list to me before the sun sets tomorrow," he said as he laid the slip of parchment down on the counter. "If you don't get them in time? well lets just say it won't be healthy for your neck." The third pirate, a large Khajiit by the name of Jal'Zarl, laughed at Captain Spivey's bluntness.
Holding the silver chalice like his new born child, the merchant watched the pirates leave his shop with the chest. He smirked villainously as he formed a plan to take the chest as his own. The things in that chest would make him the richest man for miles around, but there was no way he could obtain the items on the list. It listed some items not seen since the era of Ayleids, some plants from the realm of oblivion, and others only seen in as far reaches of the continent as Morrowind. Therefore, the only way to get those treasures in his hands would be to slip it from them while they are passed out after getting drunk tonight in town. Now, he just had to make sure the pirates drank as much as possible while staying in town.
*****
Night fell once more upon the small town of Jouket. Darkness svck in the lights of the landscape greedily, creating isolated halos of flickering flame light speckling the town as the men, slow to retire to their beds, hung around the local tavern. The waves, eerily invisible except for the slight glitter in the moonlight, lapped the shoreline with steady persistence. Masser hung drearily in the sky, dominating the tiny brilliant white Secunda as it attempted to outshine its bigger brother.
Tonight was an uncomfortable night for the patrons of the tavern simply called The Wet Cup. The three pirates made everyone uneasy, some Khajiits decided to head home when they found the pirates infesting the tavern like a plague. Most of the others, however, couldn't go against their daily tradition and opted to stay, albeit with a constant eye on their purses. Though, one man seemed to go out of his way just to please the pirates.
It was the merchant, whose name was Hambel, and he was ordering drinks all around without a concern for money. Again and again tankards of ale were drained by the pirates, all the while Hambel eyed the chest in settled into Glundor's left arm. The pirates were beginning to get rowdy and hollered dirty jokes at each other, and the guards, still assigned to watch the pirates, began to get worried. Then Captain Spivey suddenly asked the barkeeper where to get a bed in town, and Hambel smiled in triumph, he had gotten the pirates drunk enough that they did not want to walk back to their ship. The barkeeper told them he had three rooms available upstairs and Captain Spivey flipped him one of the coins out of the chest, worth maybe a hundred times more than the price of the room.
Captain Spivey griped Hambel's shoulder a little unsteadily and said, "You're a pretty good man, you know? Giving us all that ale was pretty nice of ya! Now all you have to do is get me them supplies." He burped then got up and stumbled up the stairs to the rooms, with Jal'Zarl, Glundor, and the guards following. Hambel grinned from ear to ear. It was only a matter of time before they would be fast asleep, dreaming of pretty women, and blissfully unaware of Hambel stealing their chest.
Soon the tavern cleared out and Hambel was the only one left. He had drifted into his own thoughts wondering what he would do with all of his new riches.
Then he was abruptly awakened when the barkeeper said, "Hey, you know its closing time right?"
Hambel, reminded himself that he had to first obtain the chest and replied, "I'm just going to go upstairs for a minute and then I'll be on my way."
"Well, hurry up with it, I have to sleep too you know," he snapped. Hambel quickly left the table and crept silently up the steps. Ever so slowly, he passed the unused rooms, nearing the back of the hallway which contained the doors to the three rooms where the pirates where sleeping. The hallway was completely dark except for a slit of moonlight that shone through a crack in the wall at the end of the hallway.
He tiptoed up to the first door and gradually turned the knob. The door popped open with the slightest of audible creeks. He swung open the door, and like it was beckoning to him, the chest was at the foot of Glundor's bed with a shaft of pure moonlight reflecting off of its distinct features. Its divine beauty, free from the oppressing arms of the pirate, almost made him cry. Determined, he snuck through the room to the chest and laid his hands over the intricacies of the scrollwork on the chest. The feeling sent shivers through his body. A dog barked in the town somewhere, making him jump. Quickly he hefted up the heavy chest in both arms, and made to leave. He never made it.
Just as he was about to turn to leave, a jet black blade split his back and came out his stomach plastered with his own blood. Blood sprayed all over the chest and the bed in front of him as he went weak in the arms and the chest fell to the floor with a loud thud. He tried to scream but only a gurgle escaped his mouth before he fell to the ground, slumped over his beloved chest.
A laugh now rang out in the room; a loud and crazed laugh. "You sir, have just underestimated a pirate's tolerance to alcohol!"
