Chapter Text
Warm, salty air blew lazily through Gale’s loose hair. He reached up to tuck it behind an ear only for it to promptly fall down and hang in front of his eyes. He huffed and pushed it back again. When it inevitably fell once more he closed the thick tome he had been pouring through and cursed under his breath. Where was a hair tieback when you needed one? Surely somewhere below decks of the merchant ship he was currently aboard there was a store of ribbon waiting to be sold at port. Perhaps even silk or velvet?
“Oy, wizard!” a voice called from somewhere behind him. He turned to see a member of the crew holding up what looked to be a broken mop handle. “Can you Mend this for me?”
Gale nodded and set his book down beside him. The man took a few more paces and handed it over. Gale muttered the incantation under his breath and watched as the splintered wood fibers knitted themselves back together. He gave it back to the man, who took it without so much as a “thank you” before beginning to walk away.
“Wait, uh, sir?” Gale called out. The man turned back around with a smirk
“I ain’t no ‘sir’, I assure you,” he replied. Gale ignored the remark.
“Do you know where I can find a short length of ribbon on this ship?” he asked. The man laughed in response.
“A ribbon? Where do you think you are, lad?” he snickered. Gale simply frowned and the man turned and left quietly laughing to himself.
Asshole.
Gale sighed and resigned himself to errant flyaways as he sat and reopened his book. The hot midday sun made the bright white of the paper hard to look at and the closed gunpowder barrel he sat on was not at all comfortable, but he was used to reading in worse circ*mstances. This research was crucial to uncovering a cure for his…condition.
Almost as a reflex, Gale absentmindedly rubbed at his chest over his loose white shirt. Below the thin cotton fabric sat the current bane of his existence—a perfectly circular mark the size of his fist surrounded by undulating waves of sea green and blue scarring. An orb that had been plaguing him for years, and one that he hoped to finally be on the cusp of removing from his life forever.
The book in his hand was one of specialty sea shanties, strangely enough. He had managed to convince the ship’s bard to give it to him after some amount of bribery. He poured over the pages of lilting poetry, some quite basic and some rather musically complicated. They all had one thing in common, however—every shanty in this book served to express reverence, awe, and fear for the goddess of the seas, Umberlee.
The Bitch Queen, as she was called by some. A name that served her right, in Gale’s opinion. The goddess was temperamental and cruel, lording over the seas and throwing those poor bastards that had not paid her either enough deference or tithe into the depths for fun. Every ship, including the very merchant ship he was sat upon, had to make a sacrifice of goods or coin before each voyage to ensure survival of the rigging and crew. One hoped for fair winds as well, but the Wavemother’s blessing was much harder to earn than her simple compliance, and the potential for story seas always had to be accounted for.
As Gale’s eyes moved over a short rhyming jig claiming Umberlee favored the rich he rolled his eyes. She favored no one. Cared for no one but herself. The rich simply had more gold and goods to throw overboard as tribute.
No. She truly cared for no one. As Gale lowered his fingers from the aching orb in his chest he had to shake his head to stop himself from drifting into sad memories. What mattered right now were solutions.
But at two weeks now out to sea, he had not yet found what he was seeking. It was frustrating, knowing the general outline of a plan but not the specifics of how to accomplish it. He had paid Captain Dammon of the Moradin’s Shield quite a sum in order to board as simply a passenger. The ship was a trading vessel, unused to housing any warm bodies that were not crewmembers. But that was okay, as Gale was also not used to such long stretches of uninterrupted sun and salt. They could be uncomfortable together.
The crew were mostly rough, experienced sailors, and Gale would be lying if he said they were not intimidating. He had tried the first few nights to spend time with them playing dice or drinking, but the sailors mostly spoke of their families, and Gale did not have much to add to those particular conversations.
A shout from the quarterdeck distracted him from his book again. He squinted against the sun to see the quartermaster gesturing towards the horizon and yelling that another ship had been spotted. Gale ignored it and found his spot on the page again. They often passed other ships on their trade route. It was standard practice to point them out to the crew in order to avoid collisions.
But then, there was another shout, this time more frenzied.
“Mercenaries on the horizon! Man the cannons!”
The ship suddenly erupted into motion as the entire crew moved to ready the ship for battle. More shouting came from the quarterdeck as Dammon emerged from the captain’s quarters yelling orders.
sh*t, Gale thought.
Gale tucked the book of shanties into his satchel and stood to look out over the railing at the approaching ship. Sure enough, it was flying a bold black flag, and as it came closer, he spotted several silver stars glittering against the dark background. The pirate ship’s crew was clearly preparing for the battle as well, as Gale could make out their gun ports being drawn open and the blunt, imposing ends of iron cannons being poked through the openings.
sh*t, sh*t, sh*t.
Gale turned on his heel and ran towards the stairs that led below deck, determined to stay out of a fight that was not his own. He practically fell down the stairs in his hurry to descend, slamming roughly into the same man who had asked him to fix the mop earlier. The man caught Gale’s shoulder to right himself, holding him and preventing him from escaping.
“What is going on? I heard shouting up top but I couldn’t make it out,” the man yelled, his voice muffled by the noise of the commotion above them.
“Pirates are approaching,” Gale yelled back.
“Well sh*t!”
“That’s what I said!”
“Well go on then,” the man replied, and shoved Gale’s shoulder back towards the staircase, “What are you doing down here for?”
“Going to hide, obviously! I am under no obligation to fight with the crew,” Gale shouted back. He tried to move past the man but the sailor drew his cutlass and leveled it at Gale’s neck.
“You will do no such thing!” the man yelled, his eyes wild, “You may be a paying passenger but you’ll drown just as well as the rest of us if the Shield goes down. And if you’re going to be dead weight I might as well cut you down where you stand and cut your misery short. Are we clear?”
Gale stared at the man for a moment before nodding sharply.
“Good lad! Now go on, then!” the man said. He lowered his cutlass but did not sheath it, “Above decks, ya bastard!”
Gale considered, really considered taking the sailor out and hiding anyway, but he knew the man was right. He turned and ascended the stairs, heart dropping into his stomach when he came above deck and saw how close the other ship now was. It would be only moments before the pirates descended upon them. He ran to the railing and planted his feet in a wide stance, raising his hands in front of him.
Gale closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, smelling the salty tang of sea air. He concentrated, feeling the first sparks of electricity begin to flow up from his gut into his chest, then into and down his arms. He opened his eyes when he felt it reach his palms and waited, holding the power where it was.
The pirate ship seemed to move almost unnaturally fast, cutting through the water as if the tides themselves existed only to push it towards its goal. He waited, primed, and as soon as the ship was in range he let loose the power he had been holding, feeling it finish its journey out through his fingertips. Bright white flashes of lighting arched from his fingers to the side of the other ship, striking it near the base of the hull. As the sparks crackled away to reveal a dark burn in the wood, he frowned. He had to be more careful—if he caught the sea with the electricity it could travel through the water to their ship as well.
As he readied another charge a shout came from beside him. It was the same man again, now aiming a musket at the increasingly close swarm of enemy crewmembers readying themselves to hoist boarding planks across the gap between the two ships. He let loose a shot and Gale saw it hit the arm of a woman who cried out and dropped the cutlass she was holding. He turned towards the man as another burst of lighting shot from his fingers, this time aimed at the sails.
“What did you say?” he shouted.
“I said be careful with that, lad!” the man shouted. He loaded a bullet into his musket and lined up another shot.
“I know!” Gale replied. Their ship lurched as the hull was hit with several cannon shots. He lost balance but quickly caught himself on the railing. “I am not used to battle!”
“Clearly!” the man shot back. Just then, a musket shot came streaking past Gale’s shoulder at an angle and hit the man squarely in the chest, knocking him over. Gale screamed and knelt down immediately to grab at him but it was too late. He was gone.
Well f*ck this.
Just as the thought of running entered his mind again the heavy thud of a boarding plank came down next to him. He rose to his feet as pirates began flooding across the gap and raised his hands, magic already flowing from his fingers. He sent a wave of thunder out in front of him, knocking some of the pirates into the frothing water below. Most unfortunately managed to keep their footing and continued forward, approaching him rapidly. He stumbled backwards, tripping over himself and landing on his back. He cried out and squeezed his eyes shut, accepting his impending death.
He felt the press of a blade at his chest and he whimpered, refusing to look. He could feel it pushing down, ripping through the fabric of his shirt and just barely breaking his skin before stopping.
“Open your eyes.”
He did. Above him stood a young Githyanki woman. She held the cutlass still against his sternum, not pressing down but not letting up either.
“If you want to keep your life then stay down,” she barked, “It appears you have value.”
And then she was gone, running after the rest of her crew to join the fray. Gale lay stunned. What on Toril did that mean?
The fight was over in minutes. The pirate force was both greater and better armed than the crew of the Shield. As the sounds of battle died down Gale stayed where he was, staring at the sky. It was a clear day and the sun was warm on his face.
Then the Githyanki woman was back and ordered him to stand. As he did she grabbed his arm roughly and directed him to line up with the other surviving crew members. Gale was surprised to see there actually had not been many casualties. Most of the crew was lined up, albeit much more bloodied than they were moments before. From the lineup Captain Dammon was brought forth and made to kneel. The Githyanki woman grabbed one of the tiefling’s horns and used it as leverage to turn his head up so that he was looking at her.
“You have been defeated,” she said simply. There was a rough cheer from the boarded members of the pirate crew. Dammon wrenched his head back from her grasp and spat on the ground near her feet. In response, the woman kicked him in his side and he fell over with a grunt. He glared up at her and growled.
“You’re all bastards,” he ground out, “May Umberlee drag you down into her depths screaming.”
“Oh, I do not think that will be the case, thank you.”
Gale turned his head to watch as two individuals walked across the gangplank in single file from the other ship. In front was a beautiful half-elven woman. Her dark hair was delicately plated and hung in an intricate twist down her back. She wore a billowing blouse made of cerulean silk underneath a tightly fitting navy blue vest. Her black trousers and leather knee boots were of fine quality and looked to be in surprisingly good condition for her profession. Dark blue kohl was smudged around her eyes and a hint of rouge brightened her cheeks and lips. A musket was sheathed in a holster on one hip and on the other hung a silver-handled cutlass.
As she stepped down off of the gangplank the second individual came in to better view and Gale had to suppress a gasp. One of the most beautiful men he had ever seen dropped down after the woman and walked to where the Githyanki was standing. He appeared to be an elf but his skin was unnaturally pale. He wore a long structured coat made from rich looking black and red brocade over top of a ruffled white shirt, the front strings of which were falling open to reveal a chiseled hairless chest beneath. His hair looked to be a short cascade of white curls but it was somewhat obscured by the leather tricorn hat he wore.
Gale swallowed hard and consciously reminded himself of the life or death situation he was currently in. It was no time to gawk at a handsome stranger.
The man approached Dammon and looked down at his prone form for a moment before placing a hand on the Githyanki woman’s shoulder. “It is okay, Quartermaster Lae’zel, let him up.”
“He nearly soiled my boot with his saliva,” the woman, apparently Lae’zel, replied. The man nodded his sympathy and gestured for Lae’zel to take a step back. The Githyanki followed the order but Gale saw annoyance still twisting her features. “Yes, Captain.”
“You may stand,” the man—the Captain, apparently—said to Dammon, “We are not here to kill for the sake of killing.”
The tiefling cautiously rose to his feet, seeming unconvinced. The elf then turned to address the cumulatively assembled crowd of both crews.
“You have been defeated by the crew of the Night Stalker . Remember the name, for it shall soon become famous across the land of Faerun and beyond. We come only to claim those riches aboard your ship that could be much better utilized by our own efforts and we leave all those alive who we have no quarrel with. Stay down as we depart and we will count you among those numbers. Fight back, and we will be forced to retaliate. Rest assured we will not be so forgiving the second time around.”
He then gestured to a cluster of his own crew. There was another celebratory and he smirked, waving them off before continuing, “Take as much as you can, but leave enough for their fair tribute to the Bitch Queen.” Behind him, the half-elf woman raised her hands towards the crowd.
“Blessed be she who calls the waves!” she cried. Gale co*cked an eyebrow. Respect for Umberlee was common among sailors—if not damn near a requirement—but that level of deference was rather uncommon and certainly not necessary.
“Captain!” Lae’zel declared as most of the pirates began to move below deck to bring up crates of goods. The Githyanki turned and pointed directly at Gale and continued, “We should bring him. He displayed powerful magic during the fight.”
The elf paused, considering. Gale felt the blood drain from his face.
“What type of magic?” the devout half-elven woman asked.
“Lighting,” Lae’zel replied, “And thunder as well, I believe.” The woman tilted her face in curiosity and then turned towards the wizard.
“Tell me, mage,” she called, “From where do you draw your magic?”
“Uh, s-study,” he stammered, “I am a wizard.” He was surprised to see the woman looking slightly disappointed.
“I see,” she said, “Be that as it may, do you worship any particular deities?”
Well that was a complicated question, really. But Gale sensed this was not the time for complicated answers and opted for brevity.
“Umberlee.”
Her face lit up. She held her arms to the sky and closed her eyes. “The Mistress of the Seas smiles upon us this day!” she cried. She looked back at Gale, “You simply must come with us then.”
Next to her, the Captain looked amused at her antics and spoke again. “I agree, actually,” he said, “I am not as devout to the Bitch Queen as Shadowheart, here, but I will always recognize the value of a powerful wizard. We have not had one on our crew in some time.”
Gale opened and closed his mouth a few times wordlessly. The pirate Captain raised an elegant eyebrow and took a few steps forward.
“We can make it quite worth your while,” he explained, “The crew of the Stalker enjoys a very favorable cut. And our ultimate goal is a noble one, I assure you. We seek to end the reign of the Vampire Pirate King.” At Gale’s lack of visible recognition he rolled his eyes and put extra emphasis on his next words. “Cazador? The sad*stic captain of the Rhapsody?” Gale shrugged and the man seemed to lose his composure a bit, nearly stomping his foot on the wet planks of the deck. “How the hells do you not know who Cazador is?”
“This man is not a sailor,” Dammon spat, “He is a paying passenger, out to sea for a grand total of two weeks so far.”
“I see,” the elf replied, “So then what brings you to sea, wizard? Surely a ship dedicated to travel would have been more comfortable.”
Throwing caution to the wind, Gale decided to be honest, albeit brief, in his response. “I came seeking long-awaited answers. A passenger vessel would not have served my needs. It was authentic sailors I was interested in observing, not those employed in the business of hospitality.” The Captain nodded, satisfied with the answer. Gale decided to push his luck a bit further and asked, “If I come with you, I wish to be able to continue to search for the answers I seek. Are you amenable?”
The elf smiled and tipped his head forward in acquiescence. Gale set his jaw and began to walk towards the Captain. This was either the stupidest thing he had ever done or the cleverest. Even after only two weeks he already felt as though he had learned all he could from the Shield and her crew. The opportunity to learn from a fresh set of sailors— pirates, no less—presented a unique opportunity. Pirates, above all other seafaring folk, had the most tenuous and complicated relationship with his former goddess. And the woman, Shadowheart, seemed to be at the very least a devout follower if not perhaps a clergyperson of Umberlee’s.
Once he was close, the Captain held out a hand, which Gale clasped in his own and shook. “Gale Dekarios.”
“Pleasure. I am Captain Astarion, and this fine vessel,” he gestured behind him, “Is the beautiful Night Stalker. Welcome to the crew, Dekarios.”
Gale felt a rush of something warm in his belly. He ignored the probability that it was from the elf saying his name and chalked it up to being a part of something for the first time in a long time. The Captain gestured for Gale to walk across the gangplank with him. As he did so, Gale glanced back over his shoulder at Dammon, who stood glaring at him.
“You’ll not be receiving a prorated refund on your voyage fare!” the tiefling man called after him.
Yeah, that made sense.
The pirates' ship was both bigger and grander than the Moradin’s Shield . More sails, a much larger deck, and finer details in the construction were the largest differences, but as Gale boarded he noticed it also seemed to be more well cared for. The Shield was not in bad shape by any means, but the crew only did what was required of them by their duties and nothing more. The Night Stalker , however, was a different tale altogether. Gale could see the love that had gone into keeping and honoring every part of this ship. Unsure what to do with himself, he stood against the far railing and waited, watching as crate after crate of goods were brought over the gangplank. He clutched at the strap of his satchel (unharmed in the brawl, thankfully) and took a steadying breath.
Lae’zel approached him and raked her eyes up and down his body. He suddenly felt very self-conscious and blushed in response.
“It makes sense you are not a sailor,” she said curtly, “You do not look like one.”
“Um, yes,” he replied lamely.
“You will learn,” she deadpanned, then turned on her heel, “Follow me.”
She led him below deck and through a series of hallways and staircases. As they did so they were passed by crewmembers in both directions carrying the stolen goods down and returning back empty handed to fetch another load. Unlike the crew of the Shield, which was mostly made up of humans, halflings, and surface-dwelling elf races, the crew of the Night Stalker was much more diverse. Gale spotted dwarves, drow, dragonborn, and various subraces of tiefling.
Wonder if I will make any friends, he thought. It did not matter, ultimately, as his goal was not a social one. But it was a tantalizing thought nonetheless.
Eventually the githyanki woman led him into a large chamber. “The crew’s sleeping quarters,” she explained, gesturing around. Wooden bunks lined the room, attached to the floor at the base and the bulkhead on one side. A few hammocks were hung in the corner but they looked to be supplementary. Unlike the sparse cot he had been subjected to on the Moradin’s Shield , these beds appeared more like the ones he was used to—a real mattress (thin, but still), a thick quilt, and a small footlocker tucked under the edge for personal possessions. Lae’zel pointed to a bunk in the corner. “That one will be yours.” Gale nodded and walked over, sat down, and placed his satchel next to him.
“It is…nice,” Gale replied, “Thank you.”
The Quartermaster nodded once, sharply, and left to return to her post. As soon as she was gone, Gale checked through his satchel. Nothing had fallen out. He let out a sigh of relief and flopped back onto the mattress. He closed his eyes, not intending to fall asleep, but he was weary from such an action packed day and he began to drift.
“Wake up, wizard. You are needed.”
When would it end?
Gale opened his eyes wearily to see a drow woman standing over him. Her white hair was pulled into a loose bun and she wore a strapless bodice of interwoven black and silver straps over a flowing shirt of what looked like silvery gossamer spider webs. She was glowering down at him.
“Um. Hello,” Gale rasped, his voice cracking. The woman co*cked an eyebrow and did not respond. Gale sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “What is it?”
“As I said, you are needed,” the woman replied, “Come with me.”
He rose and began to follow her cautiously. “Where are we going?”
“To the galley,” she responded, “First Mate Shadowheart’s orders. The cook needs you to Mend something for him.”
“I see,” he mumbled. They walked in silence for a moment, winding through the bowels of the ship, before he spoke again. “What is your name?”
“Minthara,” she replied, “of House Baenre. Have you heard of it?”
Gale took a moment to consider. “I know of the great Drow Houses of Menzoberranzan, but I do not think I have heard of House Baenre.”
Minthara scowled. “No, I imagine you will not have. I am the last of my line.”
She did not say anything else, and Gale did not feel like pressing the issue. Another moment of walking passed and then they were descending a short staircase to enter what appeared to be a dining hall of sorts. Long wooden tables were pressed against the walls to the left and the right, each lined with stools. The far end of the room ended in a wide arch, past which lay the ship’s galley.
Gale entered the food preparation area alongside Minthara, expecting the typical basic array of barrels and crates without much in the way of fresh food or areas to prepare such food in. To his surprise, he saw all manner of pots, pans, and utensils hanging from racks lining the walls along with a great glass case full of various small jars and pots of what Gale supposed were likely spices and dried herbs. Against the back wall stood a massive iron oven sitting atop a layer of flagstones that had been precisely fitted together, the gaps filled in with sand to prevent the metal from resting on wooden floorboards. At the top of the oven there was a pipe fitting up through the ceiling, presumably leading up to the deck in order to allow smoke to escape the room. Next to the oven was a large basin full of sand on top of which lay cold coals and a grill plate. Off to the side stood a large butcher’s block which was currently clean but which clearly had seen great amounts of use. It was, by all means, a full kitchen rivaling those found in any fine estate, albeit a bit crude in its aesthetic. Once they had fully entered, Minthara gave him a wordless nod and left the way she had come in.
“Dost thou liketh what thou see?”
Gale startled and turned to see a man standing in the corner by a basin of water, wiping his hands on a cloth. Gale had been so enraptured by the kitchen that he had not noticed the man at all, and he could see a look of amusem*nt dancing across the man’s face as he had the same realization.
“I was told Shadowheart wanted me to come fix something down here,” Gale blurted out.
“It doth be the ‘First Mate’ to thou, friend,” the man replied, stepping more into the light. He was positively ancient, eyes sunken in his almost skull-like face and deep wrinkles marking the edges of his features. He was dressed plainly in a clean white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a dirty apron into which were tucked several wooden spoons. He was mostly bald save for a few tufts of wispy white hair clinging to the sides of his head.
“Oh, um. My apologies.” Gale replied nervously. The man held him in a firm gaze for a moment before breaking and smiling softly. Gale felt his shoulders relax. “My name is Gale Dekarios.”
“And I am Jeorge, chef de cuisine for our fair Night Stalker. Thou mayest call me Withers, however. Most of the crew dost due to my…advanced age.”
“Uh, chef de-what?” Gale asked. This entire interaction was throwing him off.
“I prepare the food,” the man deadpanned, gesturing around the galley.
“Oh”
“And why, pray tell, dost thou join me in my place of employ?” Withers asked.
“I am here to fix something, apparently,” Gale said, looking around and not finding anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Although what was “ordinary” in an elaborate pirate ship galley was not a topic much familiar to him. Withers hummed in recognition and walked to the iron oven. He placed one bony hand on the handle of the door and strained as if trying to lift it. The door did not budge. He lowered his hand and gestured around the room.
“Ast thou can see,” Withers began, “I have been most blessed by our Captain with a splendid facility for food preparation. Below us there lyeth an entire hold of ingredients and a select few livestock animals to provide fresh eggs and milk. After all, thine has to build up thine’s energy in order to efficiently overtaketh ships, and salted pork and hardtack simply do not sate the pallet in the same way as fresh roasted meat and freshly baked bread.”
Gale agreed. After only two weeks out at sea, he was already missing fresh food immensely.
“My faithful oven is the hardest working tool of them all. I use it every day, and as such, I seem to have broken the arm mechanism for easily opening the door.”
The man gestured for Gale to approach and explained in detail how the mechanism normally operated. The door to the oven was large and made of solid wrought iron, so it was naturally quite heavy. The oven had been crafted specifically to fit in the awkward dimensions of the ship’s galley and the door was made to swing upwards, affixed to hinges at the top. To accommodate opening such a cumbersome door, a pulley mechanism with a lever arm had been fitted to allow one to easily raise and lower the door as needed. It appeared that the pulley rope had snapped, and as the door slammed shut, the lever was wrenched out of position and had become bent, rendering it unable to provide the proper torque.
“I can most assuredly fix this,” Gale said after listening to the explanation and fully examining the structure.
“Excellent,” Withers replied.
Withers helped him hold the pieces in place as he Mended the frayed edges of the rope back together. Gale then attempted to Mend the bent iron lever but it was too large and solid for the spell to take effect. He scrunched his eyebrows together as he considered how to proceed.
“Perhaps if the iron was hot, it would become more pliable?” Withers asked. Gale nodded—that might work. “Mightest thou heat the metal with thine magic, then?”
Gale sighed. “Unfortunately, I cannot. Any elemental magic I possess is limited to those varieties which relate to storms and the seas.”
Withers tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “How curious,” he muttered. Gale ignored the remark and pointed to the coal-pit grill.
“We can use that,” he said, “Help me load more coal in. We need as much heat as we can get.”
Together they removed the grill plate and piled as much coal as would fit on top of the sand. As withers used a match to light the pile, Gale held out his hand to release a soft wind from his fingertips, stoking the fire until the flames were large and hot. They buried the lever in the coals and waited a moment until the bits of metal peaking through the flames had turned red hot. Withers used a set of cooking tongs to delicately pull the lever from the coals and place it on the flagstone floor in front of the oven. He then stepped back to give Gale the room to work.
The Mend spell did not work right away as it did for smaller or more malleable items, but Gale could feel a bit of give where he hadn’t before. He breathed slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth as he concentrated. Suddenly the metal began to creak as it slowly was bent back into the correct shape. As soon as it was, Gale dropped his hands and Withers gave an approving hum from his side. They gave the lever a moment to cool and then Gale re-affixed it in the correct position, using one last Mend to make sure it was properly seated in its socket.
“Thou didst it,” Withers commented. His tone remained neutral but he was smiling, “Tonight, I shall bake apple pie in celebration.”
That evening there was indeed apple pie. The crew appeared excited that fresh baked items were back on the menu, and despite none of them knowing his involvement, Gale felt a sense of pride swell in him as he sat in the dining hall with the rest of them enjoying the treat. No one spoke to him as he ate, but he was content to simply sit and listen to them exchange stories. In the corner he could see Minthara chatting with a large red-toned tiefling woman with one horn. The woman was laughing uproariously at something Minthara was saying.
Huh, Gale thought, Minthara did not strike me as the humorous sort.
After pie it was either free time or night shift duties. As Gale had not been assigned anything, he headed directly for his bunk, exhaustion beginning to set into his bones. When he entered the sleeping quarters there were several other people already present, mostly keeping to themselves. The tiefling woman he spotted earlier was lounging on the bunk directly next to his. As she approached she sat up and held out her arms in welcome.
“If it isn’t our newest crew member!” she exclaimed, “How ya doin’, soldier?”
Gale smiled sheepishly and sat down on his own bunk. “As well as one could be, I guess. Nothing bad has happened yet, really.”
The tiefling woman laughed. “Well that’s a good start, I suppose. You can call me Karlach.”
“Gale,” he offered, “I saw you in the dining hall. I was surprised to see you laughing with that Minthara woman. She seemed very unpleasant to me.”
“What, ol’ Minty?” Karlach laughed, “Nah, she’s hilarious. Well I don’t think she tries to be, but I think she’s a holler and a half.”
Gale raised an eyebrow. Karlach clicked her tongue.
“Ah you’ll get used to her, Gale,” she said as she laid back down on her bed, “Just don’t ask her about her past. There’s a reason she decided to live a life at sea. ‘Neutral international waters’ and all that.”
“I will take that into consideration,” he replied. Karlach laughed in response. Gale turned so that he was facing the bulkhead and smiled. Perhaps he would find friends here after all.
