[Kelp Bar] Irregular Beginnings

[Francois Peace]

The Kelp Bar was a place which he was familiar with from being a part of the navy and even more so after his so called retirement. The chairs and tables were barely worth to be mentioned, the service was shoddy, and the beer was made out of kelp and therefore couldn’t even be called horsepiss. Fiddler and another retiree, Hayreddin, sat at a table for four in the corner of the room and were only visible because it was still midafternoon and there was a window above them which showed a quite nice day out by the docks if one were to ignore the constant smell of rotting fish and the other associated smells that belong to an area greatly populated by longshoremen. Even as a local he could never understand the need to drink kelp beer, but that isn’t what the pair of old sea dogs were here for. The few other patrons that were there already made their inspections of the pair and went back to thinking about whatever small horrors they had to live with. Such despair was quite common in this place and the dilapidated state only enhanced that feeling.

Fiddler wasn’t feeling depressed and was only here, because it was simply a gathering point for a new idea which he had. The life of a mercenary though maybe considered a tough one by those who don’t realize that the basic concept was that you got paid for doing something you already know how to do, but it was the added bonuses which made this an attractive idea for Fiddler as he stroked his beard and looked over at his companion. “I have a proposition for you. As far I know once we were kicked out of the military we lost our only home and our only source of income. What I propose is that we form a band or group to function as mercenaries. In other words, we take what skills we have now and complement them with others where we are then hired to perform what duties that may be. The best part of this is that we would be able to choose who hires us and for what kind of job while basically doing the same thing we were doing for the military, more freedom and more money.”

The main issue would be lodging which could be solved in many different ways, but a permanent one which did not cost seasonally like an apartment would be the best option. He had an idea of a trade barge which included permanence and mobility all in one package and also offered the availability of modifying it due to the ten ton cargo space which it had other than the already existing rooms, it would also not require as much to actually sail it. Recruitment would probably start off slow, but as soon as they started doing more jobs and getting their name out there, the recruits and cash would flow in. “So, my friend, what do you think?”

[Hayreddin]

Hayreddin would be asleep and as for where and when he did not care. During this brief slumber he would also be experiencing a dream, but of what he could not totally discern until he was prodded very sharply in the ribs. The pain wasn't that bad, but it was rather annoying. In that instant an image would form in his mind. Hayreddin would find himself strapped to the mast of a ship, tied up nice and tight and surrounded by his comrades. Hayreddin would look around and to his dismay would find his friend Fiddler tied up next to him. It was odd for Fiddler to have been captured, typically he was the man who rescued them all during a pinch.

However all of this did little to explain the pain in his ribs, after all there wasn't anyone around except the people tied up next to him. What was even more peculiar was the complete absence of noise. Hayreddin would glance around this time, taking more time to observe his surroundings. Then, as he turned his head towards the front men where there where they had not been previously. This man carried a sword, and at that moment he would drive it through Hayreddin's ribs, sending yet another shooting pain throughout his body. The shock of seeing the blade pierce him, coupled with the pain would jolt him awake only to find a young boy with a stick, prodding him in the ribs. During that instant Hayreddin would bolt up, grab the stick and yank it from the child. "What the hell do you think you're doing to me?!?!" he would yell, his blue eyes raging with madness. The child would whimper back yet hold his ground "You looked dead sir! I was just tryna see if you were okay!".

Hayreddin would growl something about how children should leave the dead alone before calming down and handing the stick back to the child. Hayreddin would then turn and walk away from the boy, rubbing his ribs where the boy had prodded him with surprising strength. It was a short while later Hayreddin would smell the familiar stench of rotting fish and ocean air. Fiddler had requested his presence on this day and if it were not for the kid, he probably wouldn't have shown up. He would enter the bar and sit down where he knew Fiddler would be seated. As he sat down across from Fiddler the man would begin speaking to him. As this occurred Hayreddin would begin to play with the braids at his chin, taking all of Fiddler's information in. While the man spoke, Hayreddin would notice a little crab crawling across the table.

It would arrest his attention for the moment, and without further adieu he would smash it with his fist, causing a distinct crunching sound. He would stare at the innards for a moment, and then with mad blue eyes he would look at Fiddler and say "It's a rather good proposition, I'll take you up on it. I only have two requests...one is that we return home to the sea...and the other is that you shave that ugly beard." He would grin at that as he took a swig of kelp beer. Hayreddin would continue to speak "Well, I suggest we get some sort of mobile transport, I couldn't fathom staying on dry land..so obviously a boat..but having a boat requires a crew, any idea where we can find a proper one? I doubt any of these dogs know a damn thing about sailing."

[Faval]

Faval was, for lack of better terminology, down on his luck at the moment. He had been a fully fledged marine for a whole three months before getting axed and being relegated to civilian life in a manner that did not at all make sense to him. Perhaps it was because he was “stupid” as his fellow trainees were always so eager to point out. He had always had luck on his side though, it was always supplemented by hard work and dedicated resolve, but he always had a sort of lucky streak to back it up. Whether it was with the old man letting him take food from the cart, something the majority of his wages those first three months went toward paying back, or even his hard work being recognized in the training camps carried a certain amount of dumb luck to it. It wasn’t very often that officers running marine training programs happen to look closely at deckhands. He wasn’t really let down, Faval did brilliantly when they discovered his aptitude for the bow, but it was a gamble that all logic dictated he shouldn’t take. Now however, he didn’t see any luck. His training in the military had drummed in to him that stealing is wrong and Faval was never succumbing to those temptations again and he only had a week’s worth of rations to go on.

Instead, he followed a different path. During training, he had heard that there were often private militant groups that recruited out of the less…let us say ethical locales. While Faval was in absolutely no rush whatsoever to run in to one of those dens of alcoholic depravity, he didn’t have that many options. His entire skillset involved being able to put an arrow between someone’s eyes, he didn’t know how to do much else. Thankfully, his luck hadn’t run out and the first “Den of inequity” he decided to venture in to just happened to present him with the best opportunity he could hope for. Across the tavern he saw two faces he was never expecting to see again. One he knew better than the other, being the second in command on a navy vessel did earn you some recognition with the rest of the ship and he recognized the other man as one of the engineers, one he never really spoke to but he had seen on multiple occasions. Adjusting his bow a little in to a more comfortable position draped around his shoulders, Faval waded through the crowd, once being knocked over by a rather large and rather overweight man who apparently thought his drunkenly erratic movements passed for dancing, his partner was more displeased than Faval. As the boy exasperatingly finally reached his two former shipmates, he instinctively raised his hand about halfway before catching himself with a rather sheepish look on his face.

“Should I still salute…sir?”

[Francois Peace]

Fiddler was glad that his friend was going to join him, but getting of the beard was just not happening. He rubbed the beard in a protective manner in reaction. “I’m glad you like the idea of a boat, because that is exactly what I have in mind.” Fiddler took out a piece of parchment and a thin piece of black chalk and began to draw the boat he had in mind, “I was thinking we would buy ourselves one of those trade barges, they don’t require a lot of crew members in terms of actual sailing it and would provide a wide enough space with its ten ton cargo space to fit additional rooms for members and still keep enough space to hold the food and fresh water to support any number of people below ten for extended period of times. We could also modify the cargo bay to turn into multiple decks so we can also work on weaponizing parts of it.” He showed his partly finished drawing which showed a long boat with three decks; the top deck which would have the quarters of the crew, a deck just below it which looked to have ballista positioned on both sides, and the lowest deck which would function as the cargo space. “Our main problem is recruitment and funds to support this expansion.”

He was about to continue when a young man by human standards approached their table and almost saluted Hayreddin. Fiddler recognized the boy as part of the marine force on the Tide Queen but couldn’t remember the boy’s name. A potential recruit basically dropped into their laps, a fortuitous occasion indeed. Seeing the sheepish grin, Fiddler immediately tried to help the boy feel at ease. “Nah, neither of us are in the military already, so saluting is unnecessary amongst us retirees or whatever it is you want to call us.” He gave a lighthearted chuckle as his deep blue eyes glinted with amusement. “Go ahead and take a seat, Hayreddin and I were just discussing our futures. Speaking of futures, what do you have planned now that you are out of the military?”

Fiddler was generally curious, because this young man could be the first recruit into their band of misfits and would greatly increase their chances of surviving and even becoming suitably well off from the direction which he had envisioned. The world of mercenaries could be a cutthroat business and not just between fellow mercenaries, but those that hired them as well. At any moment you could be sent into an ambush so as to avoid having to pay for your services. It was not a position which Fiddler wanted to find himself to be in and increasing the number of people in the band was one of the many steps which could be taken to decrease the probability of that chance coming to happen by a great deal. He would continue to gaze at the boy, studying his features, as he waited for a reply.

[Hayreddin]

As Fiddler moved to rub his own beard, Hayreddin would yawn, his right hand moving to scratch the back of his head. Upon finishing he would remove that hand from his head and proceed to remove the crab guts on the table. Though it was his fault that the guts were on the table in the first place they still managed to be particularly annoying. So as he did so he found that the guts texture wasn't pleasant at all, but still it wasn't the worst thing he had touched. Oddly enough the texture intrigued him and so he would bring it to his nose and take a whiff, at that moment his face would cringe in disgust. The smell was comparable literally sticking your head right next to an animal's pooper. Instantly he would flick it off of his finger, sending the remains in to the wall.

As soon as Fiddler started talking Hayreddin would look up once more to meet his gaze, yet his hand would reach under the table to wipe the remaining clear goo off of his finger and on to his pants leg. Hayreddin would then lean in a little bit in an attempt to make out the drawing that Fiddler was creating yet the dim lighting wouldn't allow him to see much. So to prevent some awkward scene with him leaning in to closely he would instead sit back and await for Fiddler to finish. During that time he would reach for a strand of his braided beard and would once more begin to idly fiddle with it, listening all the while. Then without much wait Fiddler would show the picture he had drawn. Hayreddin would pick it up and examine it closely, a low "hrmmmm" emanating from his throat. Finally he would place it down on the center of the table before replying to Fiddler "Well, I have about five hundred or so gold mizas to give. It isn't much, but it's a start..This plan is quite ambitious, but then again, look who im talking to."

Then the conversation was over when a young boy came to their table. This almost caused Hayreddin to get up and throttle the lad out of pure shock, but he recognized the kid and held off on his initial reaction. Hayreddin would allow Fiddler to handle the talking, and would scoot over to suggest that the boy sit next to him. Meanwhile, prior to the boy's response about his future Hayreddin would say gruffly "Don't bother with sir, for one I'm not that old to be a sir, and two this isn't the military anymore. I'm Hayreddin, and that man there is Fiddler." Hayreddin wasn't sure if the boy had known their names, but giving his name out anyway just seemed the normal thing to do, after all he sure as hell didn't remember the kid's name and an introduction was only the normal thing to do.

[Faval]

Being able to take in multiple details of a battlefield at once was one of the many skills he was trained in. He needed to be able to see battle formations, understand their movements and not overlook even the minutest of details. He found he could not turn this heightened sensitivity off when it came to civilian life and despite the less than comfortable way he had made his way over to the table of his former superior officers; he noticed most of what went on as he moved. He specifically noticed that the spot his former superior had relinquished for him to sit had previous had some disgusting looking goop smeared on the bottom of the table. He had grown up on the streets and had been immersed in disgusting things, things far more disgusting than crab guts, his whole life. That might be why he was so against sitting near something revolting. Faval had been trying so had to distance himself from his previous life that anything that just might remind him of his life before the military was avoided like the plague. Consequently, despite the invitation to sit down, Faval stayed still for a few moments, his eyes fixed on the clean side of the table to which he’d be sitting with a look of apprehension painted across his face.

“If it’s all the same to you si…Mr. Fiddler, I would like to stand or at least fetch another seat. I’m not very comfortable in this place…or sitting under crab guts.”

Faval, deciding that he had already been rude enough and not sitting at all would probably push his chances of finding anything at all productive to do with the remainder of his life, grabbed an unoccupied stool from a nearby table and brought it against a side he assumed but at least didn’t know was dirty before sitting down across from the two as he considered the less immediately disgusting person asked him. What plans could he have? Outside of being able to hide from bigger kids and to kill things with a bow, he had no other skills. He was probably going to end up on the streets again at this rate as an enforcer for some lowlifes just to be able to feed himself and that scared the living hell out of him. He honestly had no idea what he would do and to be honest, right now he was just clinging to the first familiar faces he could find for anything vaguely related to sanctuary. Still, he needed to at least answer the questions posed to him. He also wasn’t going to break the habit of addressing previous superior officers as sir.

“Faval Verbeugen, sirs. I don’t have any plans I…really only know how to fire a bow and avoid getting hit by things. All I was ever trained for.”

[Francois Peace]

The amount of money which was saved up by his friend was a significant amount and together they had about nine hundred gold mizas or more. It was a start, but far from the three thousand which would be required to buy the trade barge itself without any modification which might be required to make it more of a headquarters and less of a shell of wood with a huge empty space that floated. “Ambition is indeed something which I am quite known for.” He still had quite a few decades to live and Fiddler planned on living them to the fullest that was possible. He noticed that the young man was giving the seat he was offered a rather odd look, there must have been something on it for he asked to stand or find another seat. “Of course you can go find another seat. “ While the young man went to grab a stool to sit, Fiddler would listen to the boy’s description of his skill set and simply nodded at the end. “It seems you are stuck in the same boat as the two of us, how would you like to tag along? A young energetic fellow like yourself would be a great asset to round out our skill set which is mainly focused on sailing and naval combat at the moment. An archer would provide a much more useful skill in the short and long term.”

Fiddler would continue to speak and began to outline his plan for their current objective, “What the two of us are looking for is a trade barge”, he slid his crude drawing over to the boy, “tell me what you think about this. The amount of money required to pay for this is not something the two of us could put together straight away so we will be looking for other recruits as well as work.” It seemed like they found another wayward soul like them and would be a trio in a short while. Companions were always welcomed on the road to life. “We will be using the trade barge as a headquarters as well as at its original function. Trading goods would make a good start for a group of mercenaries as a solid starting income while we get our name out there. That is something else which we haven’t discussed as of yet. We have no sigil or name with which to brand ourselves as so that we are recognized for our services. It is a fundamental problem, but we don’t have enough people currently to actually try to muscle our way in on the traditional mercenary market.” All of this was said in a low voice so as to avoid having their conversation being overheard by the barmaid or any of the other patrons which may be on the payroll of spymasters employed by various factions within the city. That was another problem, how to keep their neutrality within a city which had two major factions and various smaller ones all vying for power.

[Hayreddin]

Faval would elect to find another chair. This action would cause Hayreddin to doubt him. Surely the action of getting a chair was honest enough, but then again it was also a perfect cover. Hayreddin could imagine two possibilities of Faval's actions other than the obvious one. The first would be to excuse himself from the conversation so that he could confirm the presence of Hayreddin and Fiddler to an assassin. The second idea was the moving of the chair was the tell that the assassin would be looking for, thus giving confirmation that Fiddler and Hayreddin were seated at this table. However his first idea would be shattered as Faval came to be seated next to them, but the second scenario could very well be true. To mask his concern he would continue to act as normal as he could manage. This would be accomplished by laughing and then speaking about Faval. It would be short lived as he would choke on some spit after speaking which would cause a brief fit of coughing. As he coughed Hayreddin would attempt to stifle it with is fist. Hayreddin would say "What'sa matter kid? Afraid it might bite you?" After the bout he would once more take a swig of the kelp beer, washing his dirty mouth out with a comparatively cleaner substance. After the sip he would wipe the droplets of the vile substance from his beard and would proceed to clear his throat quietly.

Hayreddin's blue eyes would study Faval with a cursory glance as Fiddler spoke. It was during this moment that he would dismiss his theories of Faval selling them out and meander his focus back on to Fiddler. It was apparent Fiddler trusted him which meant that Hayreddin would allow Faval's company. So now on to more serious business Hayreddin geared himself for coming up with a plan. What his friend said was true, they didn't really have much to work with. This wasn't going to be easy and it would most likely end with all of them dead, but it was better than rotting away in the streets. Hayreddin would begin the customary playing with his beard as he thought in momentary silence. Then he would put his elbows on the table and rest his chin on his palms whereupon he would begin to speak after Fiddler, his voice copying the same low tone. "I don't really know what to tell ya about jobs, never done much other than serve on the Tide Queen. However, one thing I do know is that this barge is gonna need some lads to sail it with us, cuz you, me, and the lad, assuming he chooses to tag along, aren't gonna cut it. So what I suggest is that before we work, is that we get out of this pisshole, find some lads to help us pay for the barge, buy the damn thing and then start working. The way I see it, the boat is the key to our profits." After that he would turn to Faval, who now had the opportunity to reply to Fiddler assuming he wasn't going to interrupt Hayreddin's brief two cents. Hayreddin, while enjoying the talks of the future, was well prepared to begin the long process of becoming established, and first thing first was getting a crew.

[Faval]

Faval, while completely uncomfortable in his chaotic surroundings and very much wishing to be back on the army base where everything was clean and orderly, listened as intently as possible to what the two older men were talking about. It was difficult to focus, however and had it not been for his training as a sniper and dealing with constant chaos around him, he wasn’t so sure he’d have been able to keep track of what all they were saying. During his training, he had to hit a target while people made an obnoxious amount of noise all around him, to simulate what it would be like to try and hit a target on the battlefield, amidst the countless metallic clangs and battle cries that often sounded similar to animals dying. The tavern around him was not much different from that. There was a lot of yelling, a lot of movement, many mugs being slammed on tables, many people being slammed on tables…hell, Faval was pretty sure he heard a pig in the throes of death as well. Perhaps someone in the back was slaughtering someone’s dinner. Faval’s instinct for flight had rarely been stronger than it was right now and he wanted nothing more than to just get up and leave. Greater than his desire to flee with the greatest haste possible was his desire to finish his mission and at the moment, his assignment was to find a way to feed himself whenever the paltry rations were out. Considering his only other options were joining a criminal gang or performing shows on the street, he had to sit this through and listen to what the men had to say.

Relying on pretty much all of his training to focus in on his targets, the men named Hayreddin and Murphy, Faval listened as they spoke about the plans they had and shifted his eyes down at the drawing as it slid its way across the table to him. It made logical sense and while Faval didn’t exactly have any amazing aptitude for boats, you didn’t make it far in the Zeltivan military without being able to hold your own on one. It also made sense for the two former navy men to be doing what was familiar to them, just as Faval had been clinging to anything he could of his military life. However the fact that he was looking at a boat was all the boy could glean from what was presented to him. There were many other scratches along the paper that Faval had assumed were words, but could in no way understand. While the picture and the accompanying words should have told him everything he needed to know about their plan, but all he could do was glare at it and pretend to understand the important things, like how much the boat would actually cost or what the minute specifics of the vessel were. As per usual, a wave of inadequacy washed over him. He hated his illiteracy and he hated the ridicule that followed it. He’d go with a new approach this time; they needn’t know he could not read. Not yet at the very least, he’d tell them after he knew he was secure. Faval continued to gaze at the picture as the men ahead of him spoke, not noticing the more disgusting one’s apprehension of him. Of course, if he was trying to signal assassins, he wouldn’t need to leave the table or travel the additional two feet that he did to fetch a stool. Ignoring that he personally would rather kill them himself if that was his mission, it did not take a whole lot to cue an assassination. He could have signaled a shot with a hand wave, a slight shift of his shoulders, hell even how long he stood there could have been a cue. He didn’t need something as elaborate as fetching a chair. As the man who promised he wouldn’t bite him finished speaking, a speech that Faval honestly was not able to pay attention to as he was too busy trying to make sense of the scratches on the advertisement, the boy picked his head up slightly to respond to the man turning to him. Thankfully, Faval knew where the barge was beforehand and did not need the directions the advertisement provided.

“Lemme go scrape together what money I still have and I’ll meet you down at the shipyard in a couple of days. We can talk more then. I’m in. I will go do that now.”

Faval bowed his head respectfully before vacating his stool and making his way back through the loud, chaotic, and rather pungent crowd on his way to the door. He did have his compensation for the early retirement and he did have some money he had saved up from before that, so he did have means to contribute to the boating venture. What exactly they were going to do was still lost on him but he didn’t have any better options, despite how unappealing the small jobs and trade good peddling sounded until they could actually afford to break in to the mercenary market. At the very least, he supposed he could serve as a bodyguard of sorts for the group while they did all the things he didn’t know how to. At least until they had something more pressing for him to do. Managing to barely sneak through the building alive, at least in his mind, Faval shoved his way out in to the fresh(er) air and back toward the small hole in the wall where he kept the majority of his belongings, hoping they would still be there when he returned. A foolish hope most likely given how many scavengers resided in this city but he was confident that he was the only one who knew of his special little hiding spot. At least he knew he’d be able to recover his belongings if someone was foolish enough to steal them…hopefully.

[exit]