Bartel declared she had one more story in her as she twirled around, beer sloshing from her mug. Hernkull, who had been nearby, moved out of the range of Bartel’s splash attacks. The others, including Uilly, cheered on the halfling and started to pound the table, chanting, “Story, Story!” Bartel, while obviously drunk, glowed with excitement.
“The story takes place seven years ago, in a port town much like this….”
But before Bartel could continue, her words trailed off as her head swayed, and the mug nearly slipped from her grasp. Her audience waited eagerly, but the tavern grew quieter as she faltered. The spotlight shifted to Sern, who knew he was not going to escape this one. With a resigned sigh, he began his own recount.
“I remembered that day very well,” Sern began, his voice steady despite the memories flooding back. “I had been running from the ‘Port Boys,’ the local thieves’ guild, after missing a job the night before. The enforcers came at me in Baker’s Alley, and I made it out of the dead end with a well-hidden rope tied off to the roof of the bakery. Quickly, I was up the rope, and the race began.”
He paused, letting the memory settle in his mind.
“Through the streets and along the rooftops, I and my would-be assailants shifted through, avoiding attention as we played cat and mouse. The enforcers were many, spreading out and forcing me down to the docks where the rooftops would end, putting us all at ground level.”
Sern took a breath, his gaze distant as he recalled the next part.
“It was at the last of the rooftops and the sight of the bazaar that I remembered what I was supposed to do the night before. One of the merchants wore an amulet that prevented her from being swindled on deals, and Marlow, the leader of the ‘Port Boys,’ wanted it. It would have been my step out of pickpocketing and a promotion to the burglars if I had done the deal last night.”
The crowd listened intently as Sern’s voice grew more animated.
“I quickly surveyed the bazaar. There, near the end of the market, was the woman, and on her neck, the amulet. My mind went into overdrive as I quickly made up a plan on the spot to steal the amulet, save my own skin, and avoid the thrashing of the enforcers. I dropped from the roof, hanging from my fingers to lessen the fall, and tumbled as I touched down to soften the impact. I sprang to my feet, running, and to those around me, it looked like I had burst from the ground.”
He grinned, remembering the thrill.
“The enforcers were already closing in, and the foot race kicked off again. I weaved through the crowd, my eyes darting nervously over my shoulder. My clothes, tattered and oversized, clung to me as I dashed, each twist and dodge allowing small objects to find their way into my hands and be quickly tucked away, making them appear heavier. With remarkable agility, I leaped over crates and ducked under awnings, navigating the bustling market with the grace of a seasoned acrobat. I raced and jumped, tightrope-walking along the edges of merchant stalls without upsetting a single stand. The Port Boys, clearly my handlers, struggled to keep up, their shouts growing more frustrated as I slipped through their grasp.”
The open area was silent now, the tension of the chase gripping everyone or more had fallen in their mugs. Sern continued.
“Just Jump to the Wharf, and as I tried to past a group of sailors, one of them, a massive half-orc, reached out and snagged me by the collar, catching me. ‘Gotcha!’ she said, her voice a mix of amusement and authority.”
The audience chuckled, but Sern was far from finished.
“‘Hey, leave the kid alone!’ called out a halfling woman, her twinkling eyes daring the Port Boys to challenge her.”
Sern paused, a grin forming as he mimicked the halfling’s daring tone.
“The Port Boys turned, their sneers quickly fading as they saw the half-orc’s massive frame and fearsome appearance. She stood tall, her broad shoulders casting an imposing shadow over the dock. Her eyes, cold and unyielding, like the steel of a well-forged blade. The Port Boys, who had been so confident moments before, now looked like cornered rats, their bravado evaporating in the face of her intimidating presence.”
The crowd leaned in, captivated by the story.
“With a deep, rumbling voice that seemed to resonate through the very planks of the dock, the half-orc silenced the crowd. ‘Back off,’ she growled, her tone leaving no room for argument. The Port Boys exchanged nervous glances before slinking away, their tails metaphorically between their legs. I was safe.”
Sern’s tone softened as he continued.
“The half-orc, still holding me firmly in her grasp, glanced around to ensure the Port Boys were out of sight. Satisfied that the threat had passed, she gave me a slight shake, bringing me closer. At her feet, the loot I had spirited away tumbled to the ground, spilling out in a colorful array of trinkets and treasures. Coins, jewelry, and small artifacts clattered on the wooden planks, catching the light and drawing the eyes of curious onlookers.”
Sern’s eyes twinkled as he recalled the next part.
“The halfling knelt down, her nimble fingers quickly sorting through the items. No hidden pocket went unfound as she expertly removed various pieces of stolen goods, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She then turned her attention to me, her deft hands moving to search me for any additional hidden treasures. ‘Let’s see what else you’ve got,’ she said with a playful grin, her fingers deftly checking my pockets and the folds of my clothing. I squirmed slightly but didn’t protest, knowing I was at the mercy of this crew.”
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The crowd burst into laughter at the imagery of Sern’s discomfort as he held in the air and the Halfling’s deft fingers foraging for his loot.
Sern leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“So here’s the deal, boy,” the half-orc said, her voice low and commanding. “We let you go, for a much-needed bath in the bay, and we keep all this. Or...” I opened my mouth to protest, but her grip tightened slightly, silencing me.
“The halfling chimed in, her tone more persuasive. ‘Or you can keep a third of the loot, and you join our crew. The other two-thirds goes to us.”
Sern smiled at the memory of the decision he had to make.
“My eyes widened, weighing my options. The prospect of joining their crew was tempting, but the thought of losing most of my hard-earned treasures were daunting. The Port Boy would not allow this transgression to go without a bit of a beat down, if I was lucky.”
He paused, letting the moment sink in.
“What’s it going to be?” the half-orc pressed, her grip still firm but not unkind.
Sern hesitated, then finally sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Alright, I’ll join your crew,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I want first pick of the loot!”
“Deal,” the halfling said, her infectious laughter breaking the tension. “Welcome aboard!”
The tavern erupted in cheers, but Sern’s tone shifted as he continued.
“This is where it could of gone really bad for me. As they began to gather the scattered loot, a shadow fell over us. I looked up to see a figure standing at the edge of the dock, cloaked in darkness. The figure’s eyes glinted with dangerous intent, and a cold smile played on his lips. ‘I believe you have something that belongs to me,’ the figure said, their voice sending a chill down my spine.”
The crowd leaned forward in suspense. This is the part they had waited for where Bartel left off.
“The dark figure was none other than Marlow. He reached into the one pocket Bartel had missed and pulled out the amulet. In a dark voice, almost a whisper, he said, ‘You keep the boy,’ he pointed, ‘but this is mine.’”
Sern’s eyes twinkled as he neared end the story.
“The captain called down from where he watched, ‘Done.’ With a move born of countless battles, the captain dropped next to Bartel and spat on his hand. Marlow lifted his head to the quick movement, his hood falling back. It was as if they were mirrors of each other.”
“No, brother,” said Marlow. “Like when we were boys.” In the same motion, the two each pulled a dagger and, with a practiced, swift motion, opened a cut on their hands. The smack of their palms was the only sound. In unison, they both said, “DONE!”
Sern grinned as he finished.
“The brothers held the grip just a little bit longer, their knuckles whitening as they both exerted, trying to force the other to submit. With a laugh, Marlow broke first. ‘Ah, brother, you win again.’ With that, he slid back into the bazaar and was gone. Alaric showed his hand to Hernkull, who healed it with a swift chant... and that’s how I joined the crew.”
The crowd clapped, some still chuckling at the tale. Sern finished his drink and leaned back, satisfied with the reactions. The crew nodded in agreement, ready to head to their inn for the night, their spirits high from the stories shared. Uilly had Bartel over his shoulder like a bag of grain.
As they walked, Sern finished the Story for the Dwarf who had not heard it in its entirety.
“As I joined the crew, Grendor watched from the deck, his green eyes taking in the scene. He approached Bartel and Hernkull, his calm demeanor and quiet confidence evident. “Welcome aboard, Sern,” Grendor said, extending a hand. “I’m Grendor, the navigator. We’ll need your young eyes on our next voyage.”
Sern shook Grendor’s hand, feeling a sense of belonging he had never known before. The crew of the “Wind’s Whisper” welcomed him with open arms, and he quickly proved himself to be a valuable member.
As the days turned into weeks, months to years the bond between Bartel, Grendor, Hernkull, and Sern grew stronger. They faced many challenges together, from treacherous storms to hostile encounters with pirates. Each time, their unique skills and unwavering loyalty to one another saw them through.
The camaraderie between the crew was forged in fire and sea spray, their shared adventures becoming the backbone of unshakable trust. Each member of the “Wind’s Whisper” brought something irreplaceable to the table, and Sern, with his sharp eyes and quick wit, found his place among them. Sern replied in his mind as they walked his first trial at sea.
Sern’s first trial came only weeks after joining, when the ship was caught in a sudden squall. The winds howled, and waves as tall as castle walls threatened to swallow them whole. As the youngest and most agile, Sern was sent aloft to secure the rigging. His hands bled from the rough ropes, but he moved with a determination that earned him nods of approval from the older sailors. When the storm finally passed, Grendor clapped him on the shoulder, a rare smile gracing his stoic features. “Good work, lad. You’ve got the sea in your veins.”
Bartel, ever the optimist, taught Sern how to find joy in the small moments. Whether it was a particularly good catch of fish or a clear night sky full of stars, her laughter was infectious. She shared stories of mischief, weaving lessons into tales that stayed with Sern long after.
Her nurturing presence brought balance to the crew’s rough edges. Despite her small stature, Bartel had a commanding presence when it came to matters of faith and fortune. “Luck is a dance,” she often said with a playful grin. “And you, my friend, need to learn the steps.”
Hernkull, the battle shaman, became a mentor of sorts. Though gruff and prone to sarcasm, he recognized Sern’s potential and took the time to teach him the basics of survival and combat. “You’ve got a quick mind,” Hernkull said one evening as they sparred on the deck. “Use it. Strength is nothing without strategy.”
Grendor, the navigator, was a steady presence, his green eyes always scanning the horizon or the maps spread across his table. He taught Sern the art of reading the stars and the subtle shifts in the wind. “The sea is a living thing,” Grendor often said. “Respect it, and it’ll guide you. Ignore it, and it’ll swallow you whole.”
Years passed, and Sern grew from a scrappy deckhand into a seasoned sailor. The bonds he formed with Bartel, Hernkull, and Grendor became a family stronger than blood. Together, they carved their names into the annals of the sea, their adventures becoming the stuff of legend.
Now, as Sern walked through the bustling bazaar with his crew, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. The stories they shared weren’t just entertainment; they were reminders of how far they’d come and how much they’d endured together. The laughter of his companions, the warmth of their camaraderie, and the shared purpose that bound them—it was a treasure more valuable than any gold.
As they reached the inn, Sern turned to Uilly, who still carried a snoring Bartel. “Put her down gently, will you? Alaric might take offense if you drop her favorite sail maker.”
Uilly chuckled, adjusting Bartel over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, lad. I’ve got her.”
Grendor opened the door, and the crew filed in, their laughter echoing into the night. For Sern, it was another chapter in a story that was still being written—a tale of loyalty, adventure, and the unbreakable bonds of friendship.
