Flashback Face in the Wind, Stealing in the Storm

[Stefan]

88th of Winter of 511 AV.

Stefan spent two years in the Laviku’s Pride, under the command of captain Marysol. He got stabbed more times that he cared to remember, killed more men that he could count, tried drugs and alcohol which he never heard about before, got sick with various exotic illnesses, visited almost every city with a port in Mizahar, bedded at least one woman in every one of them, crossed the entire Suvan Sea various times, got new tattoos in his body –a miza on his left shoulder and, on stylized letter, the inscription “Of Wine, Women & Song” on his upper back –, sailed through storms, swam until his arms were at the point of falling off and raided various ships of any kinds. And he survived everything.

Laddie, his good friend, was almost like a brother to him, as they were inseparable. He did teach him how to fish, how to fight with a dagger, and how to sail –the basics of survival at sea– and in exchange, Stefan spent some time teaching him how to read and write, and even some stories of faraway places. Stefan also acted like a brother, but on a more unusual way; for example, in the celebration of Laddie’s birthday, Stefan purchased the services of a prostitute in Sunberth for him. His “little brother” never stopped thanking him for that. He even tattooed the face of the Benshira prostitute on his right shoulder, and even though Stefan adviced than that was too hasty, he didn’t listened.

Stefan also became quite popular in the crew, mostly because he became the shantyman and the musician that played under the deck for entertainment. He did make some friends among the crew, especially Iman, how truly appreciated the small, but important role that Stefan played on the ship.

It was a fine life, of adventures, freedom, thrill and everything else.

But even though, the crew of the Laviku’s Pride was nervous, and they had reason to be.

The crew heard the news in Riverfall: a big storm was about to come. And it wasn’t any ordinary storm; it was something straight out of a nightmare, something to do with Djed, and the result would not be pretty. If everything that was told to them was true, they had slim chances of survival.

And as soon as the first small drops of water began to fall on the deck of the Laviku’s Pride, and the water started to get a little turbulent, everybody started to get incredibly nervous, but at the orders of the Captain Marysol, the crew started to work as hard as they could. That was their only hope.

Stefan, showing proudly the tattoo of the miza on his right shoulder, and yet wearing a leather vest and a colourful bandana over his head to keep his hair out of his face, as well as a small, yet messy beard, tied the knots as hard as he could to avoid the ropes from breaking off, just as Laddie, the now not so young Svefra taught him.

“Come on, Stefan! The Captain ordered full sail! We need to get to the Anchorage Flotilla before the storm gets worse!” Laddie said in Fratava while tying the knot as a professional. He became a rough, yet short man, yet still stronger that his “brother” Stefan. On his shoulder, there was the portrait of the beautiful Benshira prostitute, and on his face, a light stubble and his big, blue eyes.

“Aye, aye, I’m doing the best than I can!” Stefan replied in the same language while pulling the rope on the fore-mast, just for Laddie to tie the ropes as hard as he could. Among them there were the other sailors, doing the same job in an agitated manner, scared, yet ready for anything. It was the way of life, after all.

“Brother, at the rate of which this storm is brewing, we will not have the slightest chance to success! We need to cut the ropes of the main sails!” the young Svefra gave Stefan a steel dagger, and he smiled while putting it in his belt.

“Such language, Laddie. Wonder where you got that up...”

“I learned from the most incompetent teacher!” he said with a loud chuckle “But of course, everything I learned will be useless in Laviku’s Laundry Room!”

“Keep dreaming, Laddie! You will not get rid of me so easily! After we survive the rum’s on me!” and with that, Stefan started to climb ratlines, just as Laddie told him to. Firm grasp, steady footing, calm nerves, don’t mind the burn of your hands, and don’t be afraid of the height.

Stefan was right on top of the mast, but couldn’t go any further, thanks to the scenes in front of him. The sea was raging, with the waters forming dangerous waves and foam. The wind was blowing like an angry scream, and the crew beneath him was running barefoot to not to trip on the slippery floor, all while the Captain manned the ship and the quartermaster shouted orders. Everything was pure chaos, pure fear, and pure need for survival that could be tasted in the rain that feel out of the dark, cloudy sky.

And as Stefan’s heart pounded like a rhythmic drum, he smiled widely. Now, this was exciting! There was just one thing that was needed: something that gives these Laviku’s forsaken sailors some courage. So, on top of the rigging, Stefan started to sing with a loud, clear voice, and as he sang, the crew followed with the chorus. It was a shanty he knew quite well, and knew that there would be a proper time to use it. It was this time.

Breaking the waves, a ride on the wild raging sea
Playing with fortune oh, what a lust to be free
Flashlights and thunder, the prattering rain in the hull
From a stormy horizon we get our course
The cry of freedom!

Face in the wind, we're riding the storm
We'll stay our course whatever will come
Wandering souls in the sea of the damned
Death or glory, oh, oh we're riding the storm

Cracks in the planks, the rigging moves upwards and down
Staggering masts, the pounding splash of the prow
The wind in our sails, our flag flies high on the top
From a stormy horizon we get our course
The cry of freedom!

Face in the wind, we're riding the storm
We'll stay our course whatever will come
Wandering souls in the sea of the damned
Death or glory, oh, oh we're riding the storm

Breaking the waves, a ride on the wild raging sea
Playing with fortune oh, what a lust to be free
Flashlights and thunder, the prattering rain in the hull
From a stormy horizon we get our course
The cry of freedom!

Face in the wind, we're riding the storm
We'll stay our course whatever will come
Wandering souls in the sea of the damned
Death or glory, oh, oh we're riding the storm

It worked like a charm. The courage could be felt as the crew roared, and when Stefan got up in the mast and started to cut the ropes that hold down the main sails, he could feel, indeed, that it was a cry of freedom. If he learnt something as a shantyman, is that morale was important.

But alas, it didn’t last long, as another cry from the quartermaster shouted something that did make Stefan, and almost all of the crew, afraid. Iman, the quartermaster gave a loud shout, which was heard from stern deck to prow.

“Rogue wave, port bow! Brace yourselves for impact!”

And as it was told, they did.

A giant wave, that Stefan could swear was more than 10 meters tall, though his memory often failed for that detail, crashed against the port of the Laviku’s Pride, shaking it, damaging it, and taking with it the members of the crew that weren’t lucky enough, or didn’t listen at time. The shock of the impact was enough to knock Stefan out of the mast, leaving him hanging from there, with the dagger clenched in his teeth. The wood was slippery, and he was about to fall to his doom... but he made a promise to Laddie. It was a good excuse as any, as long as he could survive, so taking chance and giving a silent prayer to Laviku, he leaped towards one side, and managed to get hold of the ratline.

Stefan’s heart was filled with joy as he managed to survive the disastrous impact. And now that the brig was going at full speed, they would most likely arrive to the Anchorage Flotilla in no time, without more loses. As soon as he got down on the ratline, he got near a rope at the mast and tied his waist with it. He was not going to die; not yet.

The waves continued to crash against the hull, but the brig resisted, and after an amount of time that he could not calculate, somebody yelled “The Anchorage Flotilla! I can see it! We made it!” Everybody, including Stefan himself, cheered loudly and gladly. They made it! It was hard to tell thanks to the dark of the storm, but they managed to get to it! Stefan would have to kept his promise, though, but he didn’t care.

But Laddie didn’t, as he was nowhere to be seen.

[Stefan]

The Laviku’s Pride has anchored himself to the Anchorage Flotilla out of necessity, as it would not have survived on its own. The brigantine managed to survive the hate of all Svefra all these years because it was incredibly fast, travelled alone, and the captain was one of the best sailors there was, if not paranoid. But now, that the incoming storm threatened to destroy the ship completely, Captain Marysol was forced to swallow her pride and risk everything. They removed the figurehead and hide it away, as they did with the black flag, and then hoped that nobody could recognize them. Captain Marysol also had to hide inside her quarters, and refused to leave. It was the most reasonable thing to do, as the Flotilla was not full of ships, specially Svefra ones.

Stefan, meanwhile, sat at the edge of the brig that afternoon, with a fishing pole on his hand hands, and the hook on the still slightly turbulent water. The cold wind waved through his long hair, held up by the colourful bandana on his head; he was used by now to the salt air, and actually liked it, but this time, the air was simply foul. Stefan ended up throwing the fishing rod at the deck angrily, remembering that Laddie never taught him how to fish.

Laddie... one of his best friends. Nobody, not even the kid himself, knew or remembered his real name, but he was a valuable member of the crew, and was like a brother to Stefan. He was one of the few persons in this world that he respected, and would do anything for. And then, just like that, he disappeared, only leaving behind the steel dagger that was lying on Stefan’s belt. He didn’t cry, at least he didn’t remember doing so, and all he wanted was to drink something strong, but he wasn’t able to, since everybody was checking the supplies that were destroyed by the water, and nobody was allowed to eat or drink anything until then. And until then, the grief was killing Stefan, which massaged his temples trying to get rid of a terrible headache.

Suddenly, a booming voice came from behind him, speaking in Common. “Mister Stefan, are you alright?” it was Iman, the Inarta quartermaster of the ship, being kind and caring with the crew as always.

“...No, Iman. I am not.” Stefan wanted to reply with sarcasm, as he always did, but he was not in the mood for it... besides, he knew that Iman was legitimately concerned. “Laddie... is just gone.”

“I understand...” Iman replied sitting down along Stefan, without making eye contact “That damn wave took a good chunk of the crew, but Laddie was especially close to you...”

“He was like a brother for me, Iman...” he continued “Void, he was supposed to outlive me! And now... he’s probably washing undies on Laviku’s Laundry Room or something...”

Iman nodded, understanding. He chuckled slightly at the mention of the Laundry Room, though: a joke Stefan and Laddie came up with a couple of years ago, about a horrible place were the sailors that didn’t respect Laviku and drown at sea are cast down, to wash the Sea Gods’ dirty laundry for all eternity. It was a stupid concept, but they dedicated themselves to spread the rumours around every tavern and place they went, in hope that it became a legend that people believed and feared. Stefan tried to laugh at the memory, but he simply couldn’t. All he wanted to do was to cry. He needed to.

There was a small pause, and Iman resumed “Stefan, I’m not going to lie to you; there is a dire satiation on the ship. The storm not only took some of our sailors, but also our supplies, specially the medicine. It will not be too hard to get the food and the water, and if we ration it enough, we can probably survive what is about to come... but the problem is the medical supplies. Nobody on his right mind would be willing to sell them in this situation: it cannot be rationed, and it’s not easy to get. See where am I going?”

“What?” Stefan said, only half paying attention to the Inarta “I’m afraid not.”

The quartermaster buffed deeply, and then continued “We heard rumours about a Zeltivan Saique, which is stationed in the Flotilla as we speak. The rumours may or may not be true, but it has some rather valuable cargo, medicines included, but it wasn’t quick enough so it’s forced to stay here. We cannot simply assault it, because it would be too risky, but we can take the things out without anybody noticing... Now you get my meaning?”

Stefan didn’t say anything, opting for only looking at Iman as if he was insane.

“Don’t give me that look, lad. You told me you were a thief before, didn’t you? That’s why we are choosing you for this: you must know how it is done. Besides, you’re human, so you must know how they act.”

This time, Stefan did reply “Are you petching insane? I was a petty thief, nothing more, and now you want me to get into a bloody ship to do an almost impossible and suicidal job, like a professional burglar, even now that I’m down to shyke for the loss of my brother?” Iman opened his mouth to speak, but he was quickly interrupted by Stefan “Count me in.”

[Stefan]

89th of Winter
1th Bell, 30th Chime

The Anchorage Flotilla was a quite impressive place, if not filled with dissimulated despair, but at this time, it was somewhat justified. Even though there were rules about letting other use the deck of the ships as the Flotilla’s “streets”, there were more guards and security that one could imagine. The reason seemed almost obvious: it could be as simple as to get extra security because nobody knew if the ships would survive. Even the Laviku’s Pride took extra measures for that, as the crew avoided talking too much, for fear that something might slip out, and Iman locked himself below the deck; an Inarta on a ship was suspicious, but an Inarta on that kind of brig could cause some troubles... the Laviku’s Pride had an infamous reputation, after all.

However, there was another reason to keep such a heavy watch, especially at night: one could never be sure if there was a burglar trying to rob the medicine of your Saique. If that was an oddly specific scenario, it is because it was happening right now.

Part of the rumours was pure truth: the Zeltivan Saique was on the edge of the Flotilla, which allowed a small rowboat to approach silently in the dead of the night. Avoiding the outer lights of the merchant ship, two Svefra, personally picked by Iman himself, and Stefan were heading slowly but surely towards the target.

Stefan was equipped to get in and out, silently without complications: he was barefoot, because the using boots would make a distinct sound when he walked on the wood of the deck, and except for that he was just wearing a light shirt –even thought it was still freezing, as it was winter –, the colourful sash on his head, his pants and leather belt with a dagger strapped, and a pouch with a few lockpicks, just in case. If there was a fight, he would have to flee instead of fight, in which case the mission would be a complete failure. But the point was to avoid a fight, or getting spotted at all. That’s why the ship’s medic, Damian Cedei, gave Stefan with a vial containing a small quantity of liquid. Stefan didn’t recall the name, but it was a medicine, made to knock out people almost instantly. Of course, it was just one vial, so it was only one use, so Stefan would have to make it count.

“By Yshul’s fingers...” Stefan said in a low voice, almost like a whisper “How did I get myself into this?” that was almost like a rhetorical question, and the Svefra that were rowing didn’t replied to him. The believed it was because Stefan was the only that was either capable, willing, or completely insane to do such task, and they were right at some point, but the truth is, Stefan didn’t cared anymore... was it a way to find death out of grief? If it was so, the young bard would never admit it.

The rowboat came close to the hull of the Saique, getting close almost like a leech. Stefan cursed the fact that the Saique did not have openings on the side for bombards, and instead only could carry light weaponry. He could have managed to get into the ship through the openings, but this time, he must have to enter from the deck.

Stefan gave a silent prayer to Yshul, someone he didn’t pray to in a long time, and then started to climb the haul of the Zeltivan Saique. Getting his fingers in the wood, repeating the mantra "every finger’s a fishhook" in his head. He was barely strong enough to hold his own weight, but his feet were nimble, so he getting proper footing wasn’t that difficult... still, it didn’t stop him from slipping and falling over.

It took the best of him to not to scream, but thankfully he didn’t fell to the water, as the fellow sailors managed to get him on time. If he had fallen to the water, the splash would have blown their cover. Stefan thanked the men quickly, and then got into climbing the hull again, this time making sure that he could get a good footing, and also grabbing a rope. Still, it was more or less difficult to climb barefooted.

Stefan’s head stuck out from the side of the rail were he could hold himself without trouble. He could observe the deck of the ship; it wasn’t as heavily guarded as he expected, with only a few patrols guarding, and one of them was actually talking to a woman, as if he was flirting. The young bard analyzed what he could do: the entrance towards the lower deck was near the mast, and if he was quick enough, he could enter without being seen, but he must take out the man and the woman...

Stefan touched his belt to take the dagger, when he remembered something, and thanked his lack of prevision. From the pouch on his side, he took the vial with the sleeping medicine, and took all it inside his mouth, then put the empty vial on his pouch. Then, Stefan grabbed his dagger, and taking a silent leap, he went towards the sailor and the maid.

The first one to fall was the sailor, stabbed silently as Stefan covered his mouth. And before the woman could scream, Stefan kissed her mouth, getting his tongue, and more importantly, the liquid inside her mouth. Soon after it, she was deep asleep. The young bard spat on the ground to get rid of the rest of the medicine, then placed the sleeping woman carefully near the stair that leaded to the helm. Hopefully, nobody would notice her in the dark. Still, there was the matter of the guard, so Stefan dragged him on the deck, and threw the corpse overboard after he took out the knife. The body didn’t make any sound when he fell, because Stefan’s crew was there to catch him. So far, so good, Stefan thought.

[Stefan]

The coast was clear, so Stefan could enter the Saique using the entrance towards the lower deck. The stench of ship hit him in the face, and though he was used to it, it was still hard to breathe the smell of unwashed sailors. But now, it came the difficult part: find the medicines. Preparing his dagger, Stefan walked silently on the lower deck, crouched and walking in the shadows. He could hear the snoring of the crew, and supposed that the people that the ones taking the rest shift were out in the Flotilla, probably drinking their sorrows away. Of course, he couldn’t be sure, because he could also hear footsteps in the deck. Hiding behind a crate, the young thief could two sailors walking and chatting about whores and who they didn’t get paid enough for this. The chatter was useless for him, but Stefan could take the chance and follow them... perhaps they would lead him to the medicines? There was only one way to find out.

Breathing slowly, but with his heart beating rapidly for the excitement, Stefan licked the scar on his lip as he followed the two sailors through the deck. Thankfully, they didn’t pass through the sleeping quarters, but they did pass by a locked door. Holding his breath and licking his scar, Stefan waited patiently for them to leave... every second it passed was like a thousand years, but once he was sure that they were gone to make another patrol, Stefan got to work.

The door had a simple lock, so using one of the lockpicks and the dagger as a tension wrench, Stefan started to fiddle around the simple mechanism, listening to any “click” that would give away the pins and finally open the lock. Stefan thanked the fact that he had some experience in that, even if it was few... a young thief in Alvadas must gain the coin to eat, after all.

The first lockpick was broken, but thankfully there was a second one on his pouch. Stefan had learned the hard way before that one must always have something as a backup. This serve as useful, as it took only a few minutes for Stefan to find the pins, heard the clicks, and finally open the lock.

The door opened slowly, revealing a room full of barrels and crates: the storage room. So much valuable cargo in one place, and Stefan could smell the spices in there... sadly; he wasn’t supposed to take them now, but to find the medicine. Leaving the door slightly open to let some light enter the room, he started to look for the medicines... they couldn’t be on a barrel, as they were more valuable than that, or a crate, as they were too big for them. It was a small chest, of course, completely on display that gave said “medicine” everywhere. It was obvious why it was so out in the open: the medicines should be ready if anything happened. Like a thief trying to steal them, for example.

Opening, Stefan confirmed the suspicion: there were around a dozen and a half of bottles full of green, viscous liquid, Of course, the complicated part was taking them out... he couldn’t simply take the chest willy-nilly, as he only could take a couple of bottles and then leave. He first took three bottles and stuck them in his pouch, really thigh for the glass to not to make any sound.

The rest of the bottles were tied into his belt, really close together as well. It would not be enough for the brigs needs, but it should have to do... until Stefan noticed something on the bottom of the chest. It was a piece of paper, stained with a foul smelling liquid, but it was legible nonetheless. It was a recipe – a recipe to make more medicine.

Smiling, Stefan stuffed the piece of paper in his pouch, and decided to leave the Saique before anybody could notice than half dozen of the bottles were missing. But the sounds of steps that were speeding towards the open door made Stefan cower in the shadows. If his cover hasn’t been blown yet, it was about to be.

The young thief held his breath as the sailor entered the storage room, cutlass in hand, while Stefan was just behind the door. Stefan’s mind was racing, trying to know what to do, and quick, but in the end he just resorted to luck, and taking a leap in front of him, he covered the sailor’s mouth, muffling him, and then punched him on the throat. The punch needed to be precise to leave the attacker breathless and unable to scream, but Stefan didn’t know how to do it. He wasn’t strong. He tried to hit three times in quick succession hoping that at least one of them was placed on the right spot.

Thankfully, at least one of them was well placed, and the sailor fell to the ground, chocking. Stefan then quickly walked out of the storage room, closing the door behind him, but when he turned himself, he could see the other guard, looking him right in the eye. Now he couldn’t think, and reacted by instinct: leaping again, this time with the dagger in his hand, covering his mouth and slicing his throat with the sharp weapon.

“Funny” Stefan thought “some years ago I killed for the first time, and almost puked at the thought... now, it just part of the job. Guess is better if you don’t know the victim...” that train of thought was interrupted with the sudden realization that Stefan needed to get out, and quick. Walking as quickly as he could without making sound, he passed through the same path when he entered, and found the stairs towards the main deck.

He popped his head slowly through the small door, and almost fell when he saw the feet of another sailor making patrol, but he was distracted by the sleeping woman in the corner. This was his chance: getting out like an eel, the young bard went down from the port side, taking a rope to lower him towards the rowboat. Once he was sitting there, and then getting away from the Zeltivan Saique, Stefan could finally breathe deeply, in relief.

“By Yshul’s unholy all-taking panties...” he exhaled, letting himself fall onto his back with a huge smile on his face “That was petching exciting!”

[Stefan]

90th Day of Winter
11th Bell

That night, just after delivering the bottles of medicine and the recipe to Damian, Stefan went directly to the quarters to sleep. He was pretty sure that there were a few congratulations, some friendly insults, among other things that he would normally greet happily, but instead, he just took his mandolin, ate a whole loaf of bread that was brought that same day, drank a entire bottle of fresh water, and went right to sleep on the crew quarters, without saying a word to anyone.

He was exhausted, and even though he came close to kissing Dira’s feet several times in the course of a couple of hours, he actually enjoyed it; walking at the edge of a knife, with his heart near his throat and his blood flowing like rum and wine in a Svefra spree was extremely exciting. Still, he didn’t sleep soundly that night. It was more like a coma, with him barely breathing with his eyes closed, and even though Stefan wasn’t tired when he woke up, he wasn’t rested either.

It was indeed odd, at least for him. In these years, when he did something like that, be it attacking a ship, getting on a out of control brawl, sleeping with the wife of someone important, and the like, he always slept soundly the following night. But now, it just seemed wrong... and he knew why. Anybody that took the time to know Stefan enough knew why, but the ones that did respected Stefan enough to not to say anything.

It was the next morning that he was supposed to resume the activities, at least as much as the current rhythm of things allowed it. As Humans, Svefra and even Charoda passed through the deck of the Laviku’s Pride; Stefan dedicated the time to play cards –Poker, he believed it was called –at the helm, not paying attention to anything else. They weren’t attacked, and that meant that nobody recognized them; it gave them the chance to kill time, even though the young bard was never good at playing cards. Still, practice makes perfect.

He didn’t cared about the fact that he was losing badly, because he only needed something to get his mind busy, but he was paying enough attention to see the looks on the face of his fellow crewmembers to know that something was happening. Turning his head and looking up, Stefan could see the onboard medic; Damian Cedei, a sombre, solemn Human, which looked as if he would rather be in any place other than this one, mostly because that was what he was thinking. Still, Damian saved Stefan’s life in many occasions, so he had his gratitude.

“Mister Teagan, I need to talk to you, and its urgent.” He said, getting directly to the point, as he often did.

“For the millionth time, lad, don’t call me Teagan; just Stefan” he replied somewhat annoyed.

“I’ll do when you stop calling me “lad”.”

“Fair enough, doctor. Anyway, what do you want, I’m on the middle of something.”

“Mister Stefan, even though the results of last night were successful, I’m afraid that we need your particular services again...” the doctor made a pause not only to take a breath, but to make sure that there were not outsiders listening “We need something with extreme urgency, but even in the marketplace of the Flotilla there are none, because somebody brought them all. That cargo is, under the current circumstances, precious, so we need to get them as fast as we can.”

“Is that a fact? I’ll humour you, what is exactly that cargo that we need?”

“Fresh lemons, Mister Stefan.” He said with a completely serious expression, contrasting the amused looks of the Svefra playing poker.

Stefan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose “I always suspected that you all wanted to kill me, but really, it is not that hard to make it look like an accident or a suicide, isn’t it? Especially for something as silly as that.” Stefan and the other two laughed at that.

“Oh, is that so? Then tell me, if you want to live, why are you holding five aces in your hand?”

This surprised him, not only for the fact that he barely knew what an ace was, but he was actually sure that there were only four in a deck of cards... still, it didn’t stop the other sailors to stand up with a killer look in their blue eyes, and then Stefan noticed what Damian was doing. But to avoid the ensuring fight, the doctor took Stefan by the arm, and carried him quickly under the deck, and towards his work area, with the same wooden board where the bard had been laid some years before, and then many times after that.

But as per usual, Damian went straight to the point, blunt and clear “Mister Stefan, the captain is dying.”

And that’s how he got Stefan’s complete attention. He couldn’t notice, but his face went pale almost instantly, and he could only utter one word “What?”

Damian sighed, and looked outside the quarters, and when he did make sure that nobody was listening, he began to speak “Captain Marysol is dying right now. It began some weeks ago, when we got the news about the storm. That’s the reason she didn’t spoke with anyone, sans the quartermaster and me. You know how stubborn she is, and will not allow the crew to see her in this moment of weakness. She can barely speak, and she’s getting worse. I’ve seen that illness before, and it can, and will, be deadly if we left it untreated. That’s why we need the lemons, they are the cure for that, and there is only one place where we can find them... you know very well that I don’t approve your... activities, but this time, it is necessary.”

Almost immediately, without thinking, Stefan replied “Where it is?”

“A Zeltivan Galleon. It’s currently heavily guarded, so entering and taking them won’t be an easy feat. But Iman seems to think that you can do it well enough, so that’s why I’m telling you. Is up to you to accept or not.”

After taking a deep breath, Stefan spoke “Lad, you know me well enough. I’ll do it” Stefan nodded, and then chuckled slightly “Odd... now my life is at the edge again, and this time, it’s against a bunch a group of trained sailors in a heavily guarded Galleon, and for what? A bunch of damn lemons...”

[Stefan]

92th Day of Winter
5th Bell, 30th Chime

Instead of the dead of the night, the heist was going to happen just before the evening, after the men in their resting shifts came back from the Flotilla. The Galleon itself was heavily guarded by a great number of Zeltivan sailors, and since it was in the middle of the Flotilla, one couldn’t get near with a rowboat. One would need to infiltrate instead, and that was exactly what Stefan was doing.

It was not hard to kidnap one sailor and then take him out without anybody noticing. Hiding the body wasn’t hard, either: throwing it at the water, and letting the current have him was enough. Even though the uniform, which consisted on a simple leather coat with a vest, along with a cutlass that Stefan was not going to use, since he didn’t knew how to use it –that’s why he carried a dagger concealed under the coat. All he needed was something to cover his face; a bandana and a hat on his head would do de trick, Stefan thought.

Stefan was actually glad that, even in these times of crisis, people still managed to enjoy life as it was. Especially in this occasion, because when the Zeltivan sailors came out of a small ship, which was used as a makeshift tavern, he could easily blend among them. He was one in that small crowd of drunken sailors, almost invisible to everybody except the most trained. Blending in plain sight was an art that Stefan appreciated, and that saved his life many times in the past.

And there was the ship: Zeltivan Galleon, like he had only seen a few times in his life; mighty, powerful, and capable of taking the breath of a land-dweller like him. Not only that, he was sure it would be almost like a maze in there... he just saw it as a bigger challenge.

The group of sailor where Stefan was stepped on the deck, and was directed to the helm, where the captain was stationed; if looks could kill, the entire group would have died right on the spot. “What the petch is this?” he growled angrily “You are in service! Drunkenness is unacceptable!” the captain, an old, furious man, started to walk and revising the small group. All of them either drunk or dizzy; their breath, faces and movements gave them away. The only one firm and ready was Stefan, which was so nervous that he couldn’t imitate the others, at risk of receiving a punishment. The captain looked at him at his brown eyes and asked “I don’t remember seeing you before. Who are you, and why is your face covered?”

Stefan gulped and started to speak, making everything up as he went “I... my name is Andrew Lother, captain. My face is covered because I’m sick... aye, and I don’t want somebody else to catch it too.” He lied, couching to make emphasis, making the captain flinch slightly “I didn’t wanted to go to the tavern, but these sea dogs insisted. Didn’t drank anything, though; it would just have made things worse for me”

The captain frowned and walked away; making a face of disgust “You are the only one sober. You tell me, what we shall do with these drunken sailors?”

Stefan tried to contain himself, as he was about to burst into laughter. Not only was he to decide the fate of these men that he didn’t knew, but also using almost the exact same phrase as one of his favourite shanties. He cleared his throat, coughing to maintain the facade “I’ll say: put them in the brig until they’re sober, captain.”

He could almost heard the growling of the other members of the crew, but honestly didn’t care; he was going to get out of there quite before they manage to put their hands on him.

[Stefan]

“Weigh-hay and up she rises
Weigh-hay and up she rises
Weigh-hay and up she rises
Early in the morning!

What will we do with a drunken sailor?
What will we do with a drunken sailor?
What will we do with a drunken sailor?
Early in the morning?

Weigh-hay and up she rises
Weigh-hay and up she rises
Weigh-hay and up she rises

Put him in the brig until he's sober,
Put him in the brig until he's sober,
Put him in the brig until he's sober,
Early in the morning!”

Stefan sang the tune silently to himself, as he heard the guards getting escorted towards the brig. The young thief, meanwhile, was directed towards the medic quarters on the Galleon. Indeed, his disguise was effective, but even he couldn’t tell where the kitchen was. He also didn’t dare to speak to no one, since his voice could give him away; some of the persons in there could tell that something was off, and even wonder where their friend was. It was a luck that his disguise worked with the captain, but he couldn’t be sure with anybody else.

He walked slowly through the lower deck, taking discrete but severe looks at anything that could resemble the Galleon’s kitchen, or at least a place to store lemons or oranges. He couldn’t help but remember something really specific that Damian told him, though: they had to be lemons, not limes. When Stefan questioned if they were the same, the doctor spent the rest of the hour explaining him the differences between a lemon and a lime; the colour, size, taste, among other things. Sadly, Stefan couldn’t fall asleep during that lesson, so he was forced to listen and obey.

The disguise attracted some curious looks from some of the fellow sailors; they started to whisper, but then returned to their activities. Perhaps they were wondering why a sick man was walking in such a way through the deck? That’s what Stefan though, but they didn’t seem to mind much as long as he didn’t got closer, and that’s exactly what the young thief was avoiding. He must had to keep the charade, don’t talk to anybody, but at the same time, find his objective; a good infiltration... to get lemons. It would be funny, if it weren’t for the fact that it seemed like a fool’s errand to get him killed.

Still... he just accepted because the doctor said it was for the captain. He thought about it for a while... even though she appeared like a complete sociopath, was horribly intimidating and ruthless, she cared for her crew, and always did make sure that they remain happy and in order. It was something especial for Stefan, however... he was no Svefra, and yet she allowed him in her pirate ship and live all kind of adventures, even though non-Svefra pirates were killed on sight. Her excuse was that she really liked how Stefan sang, and he was happy with it, but now, knowing that she was dying... it broke his heart. He would deny it as much as he could, but he actually cared for her, and didn’t want her to die.

It took him a good two hours, but in the end, he finally found the kitchen. The knifes of different kinds adorned the walls, and alongside there were bunch of barrels and crated filled with food; biscuits, some salted meat, and the precious lemons as the only fresh fruit present. Taking the chance, Stefan stuffed the pockets of the leather coat with as much lemons as he could, ending up with almost a dozen. Thinking that it would be enough, Stefan started to walk towards the upper deck.

The relatively fresh air was quite pleasant for Stefan, even if he had the bandana around his face. Now the next part of the plan would unfold itself. Placing himself on the starboard bow. He whistled, making the sound of a songbird, which even though it would be odd to hear in the Flotilla, nobody would pay attention with the ongoing noise.

The whistle was a signal to the crew of the Laviku’s Pride. Some Svefra that Stefan knew started to walk through the deck like it was nothing, minding their own business. He walked among them as well, letting his pockets open for the Svefra to take the lemons. After a couple of seconds, the deed was done, and the precious fruit was on their way to the ship. Now Stefan would simply have to walk behind the group and get rid of the clothes to disappear, but before he could do it, somebody grabbed his arm; it was the captain.

“You, sailor, why are you here if you’re sick, and most importantly, where is your cutlass?” he said on a severe tone, but the thug on his arm let something fall: a single, solitary lemon that fell down his pocket and rolled down the deck.

They both looked at the lemon, then at each other. The captain’s eyes screamed murder, but with a swift knee groin, his eyes and mouth started to cry instead, so Stefan started to run, leaping towards the rope bridge to escape: now with several sailors pursuing him.

[Stefan]

Jumping on the deck of the ship that formed the streets of the Flotilla, running like he stole something –which he actually did –from a crew of angry sailors, armed with cutlasses and daggers, Stefan started to curse that damn lemon that fell out of his pocket. At least he managed to get a good kick in the groin, and that meant not only a good start, but a reason to run even faster.

He took out the hat and the scarf, as they impeded his vision, even partially, and continued to run among the trading ships, as the crowd of onlookers saw the persecution. It was quite an amusing show, indeed, if you were not on the other side of the sword.

That was like second nature to Stefan; the act of running away, avoiding pursuers, all for his life. All his life was based about it: running from the bandits, then from Syrlias, then from the angry persons he stole from, then from Jaben, then from everyone he’d pissed off in the past... and now, from that. He was quite good at escaping, at running... the problem is, he often got catch, and when that did happen, the results were usually not pretty.

But he did learn a few tricks in that time. He jumped through a merchant stand, giving the shopkeeper a nasty surprise, but also something that blocked the pursuers’ way. But still, even though the crowd was busy, he couldn’t stop there; he needed to hide.

Walking slowly, Stefan hid himself in the crowd, as he heard the yells of the angry seamen behind him. But again, his heart was pounding like a drum... by the gods, it was exciting! The thing he hated most when he was young was now a source of adrenaline, of thrill. It was hard to describe, but of course, it wouldn’t be so thrilling once he got caught. The brig would be a pleasant dream compared to what they would do to him, and he knew it.

The crowd carried him towards a place he visited earlier the day; a makeshift tavern on a ship. It was odd, but satisfying anyway, how people still enjoyed the little pleasures for life when about to experience a disaster. Stefan did it himself, and he quickly took a shot of rum as soon as he entered. Licking the scar on his lip, he looked at where he entered. There was going to be a real fight when the Zeltivan sailors came.

“A real fight...” he thought, taking another chug of rum “That’s it!”

Quickly, Stefan sat on the edge of the bar, getting relatively hidden by the patrons. He took a bottle on his hand, and waited. When the sailors came, he waited some more, his heart making his own song as it went... but when one of the sailors looking for him came close, Stefan smashed the bottle against a patron’s head, and yelled “You bastard!”, as he hit the sailor in the face with a well placed punch “You hit my friend here!”

The offended patron in turn punched the sailor in the head, and soon their friends joined. Stefan walked out of the tavern, letting a brawl behind him as he went.

[Stefan]

Stefan was safe, for now, but he knew that the Zeltivan men would not give up so easily, so he still needed to flee the scene. The problem was that he never visited the Flotilla before, let alone travelled to further into the ship-city. He was lost, and it was just a matter of time before the sailors found him again.

He needed a good place to hide, but the place was just ships and sea as far as the eye could see. The night was coming, and the high masts of the Laviku’s Pride were nowhere to be seen. The emotions of the day left Stefan exhausted. He needed rest, but there was no place... his only choice seemed a Palivar at a little distance. It was quite big, and was firmly anchored with various rope bridges and planks. It was probably the tiredness, but he figured that he could enter and sleep in the storage. He knew that trespassing a Svefra ship was worse for them than simply trespassing a house, but Stefan figured that he’ll work something out if he ever got discovered, though the point was not to get discovered in the first place.

Making sure nobody was near, Stefan entered the living quarters. He didn’t notice until now, but he managed to get a bottle of pure Kenash rum from the bar before. It seemed unnecessary, but at least it could serve to knock out somebody in a pinch, or at least to keep himself warm in whatever place he could find.

The entrance of the Palivar –which Stefan noticed was named the Maiden of the Seas –was unlocked, so Stefan helped himself in. Walking silent steps on the relatively big house-ship, he tried to find a good place to hide and rest for the night. Everything was oddly deserted, without a soul to be seen. The young shantyman supposed that everybody was hiding in their quarters, and it was a reasonable assumption, because not only the winter was cold, but the storm was coming, like a plague about to come. Nobody could see it, but everybody knew that it was about to come and destroy everything.

And it was going to happen in less than two days.

And now he was quite far from the ship, without knowing where to go. Perhaps in the morning, the sunlight would make it clearer, but he’ll need to hurry if he wanted to reach on time. If he didn’t... he’ll work something out.

A slightly open door seemed tempting enough, but when Stefan walked in, he quickly found that he was not alone. The fact that there was a cutlass pointing at his throat was enough of a giveaway.

“...This is unfortunate.” Stefan said in Fratava, calm even though he was at sword point. Though, he managed to see who held the weapon, even though it was slightly dark: Unsurprisingly, it was a Svefra, female, with blonde hair, on her mid thirties. “Madame, I know this is incredibly odd, but I have a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

“Then speak up, landlubber. I’m sure you have a good explanation to be here, don’t you?” The woman said aggressively. One didn’t need to be a genius to know that she was quite shaken, but not because of the brown-eyed man on her cabin.

“Alright, let’s relax, shall we?” Stefan said calmly as he moved the cutlass away from his neck delicately with his fingers “Why don’t we discuss it with a nice bottle of rum? Pure rum from Kenash...”

The woman looked at him angrily, and took the bottle from his hand, taking a big gulp from it “Who are you, what are you doing here, and where did you learn to speak Fratava?”

The young man smiled, knowing that he again got a chance. It was his chance to smooth-talk his way out of this, as he always did “Let me introduce myself: my name is Stefan, Stefan Teagan, and I’m a Zeltivan sailor who has lost his way. I was looking for my ship all day long, but got lost, and I simply couldn’t get on time. And of course, when you spend too much time with Svefra, you tend to learn one or two things” as he spoke, the young man took the bottle from the Svefra and took a gulp himself.

“I see...” the woman said as she aggressively took the bottle from Stefan’s hand and drank more “Good for you; you know about my people. And only because you brought rum, I’ll let you leave.”

“Oh, but I can’t... the night’s cold out there, I’m lost, and there is a deadly and awful magical storm with unforeseen consequences coming. And by Laviku, I can’t stand the cold.”

The woman looked fiercely at him when he mentioned the storm, and took another big swig of the bottle of rum. Clearly, that was pressing a button... that could give him a chance.

“Mind if I accompany you?” he proposed, with a warm smile on his face “Drinking alone is rubbish, isn’t it? Besides, you look like someone that could use an ear to speak to, and misery loves company...”

It was probably the strong alcohol, and perhaps because Stefan asked nicely, but the woman allowed the man to stay, and sit with him on a table on her quarters to drink and talk. Shockingly for Stefan, the woman resulted to be Ceona Whitewave, the Sesatvi , or admiral, of the Flotilla. Stefan heard about her, naturally: previously a fierce pirate, but now an equally fierce businesswoman, and one of the best sailors to ever had been born. Clearly, someone to respect. However, the rum loosened her lips: he was incredibly nervous about the incoming storm. Nobody knew what was going to happen, but as she was in charge of the whole city of ships, her concern was more than justified. As Stefan drank too, he took her hand softly, apparently to console her, but in fact he was hoping that the rum was enough for her to forget about him.

“Keep calm, lass.” He spoke to her, on a calming tone, though he was drunk himself “This place had managed to hold itself for years. A storm won’t be able to do much harm to it, I assure you. At least, not under your command: you are a resourceful woman, and will find a way out of it, I promise”

“Kind words won’t do much, Stefan, but thank you nonetheless...” he drank more of the rum, until the bottle was almost empty.

“That’s why I’m here; after all, but please believe me” hopefully Ceona was drunk enough to don’t mind if he leaved, but he still needed an excuse. Still, he couldn’t help but admire her... she was attractive, strong and with a fierce attitude. Somewhat intimidating for Stefan, yes, but he didn’t mind it. “Ceona, I hope you can pardon me, but...”

The sound of steps behind the door made Stefan’s blood to freeze. Everything was going fine, but the scene was somewhat compromising. He tried to think quickly, but the first thing what came to his mind was to hold Ceona’s hands, get close to her and give her a passionate kiss on her rum-drenched lips.

“Sister, who are you talking to...” another Svefra popped her head beside the door, but as soon as she saw her sister in such a position, she quickly closed the door.

Stefan broke the kiss, breathing slowly. “That was close...” he thought... but he could not argue with the fact that he really enjoyed the kiss. But it seemed that the admiral enjoyed it too; she aggressively took his shirt and locked him in another kiss. His answer was to kiss her again passionately, making their tongues dance together. Her eyes were sparkling: it was the look of an adventurer, of a marauder, one who loved excitement, just like Stefan himself. In the end, the both of them just got carried away by the lust and the rum.

[Stefan]

93th Day of Winter
7th Bell

Something that Stefan had to learn the hard way is that, when you wake up in a foreign place, the first you should do is check if you have your pants on. When the young man looked, he noticed that he had none, but he was covered in a blanket from the waist down. His clothes were lying on the wooden floor, but the thing he couldn’t help but notice was the naked woman at his side, sleeping peacefully.

Aye, what happened the other night. Ceona did know how to do the act, but it wasn’t any surprise. She was a woman with experience, and most of all, a former pirate. Stefan caressed her hair warmly, with a smile on his face, as he still smelled the aroma of the rum from last night, wondering what time it would be.

That’s when it hit him. It was morning. And not only morning, but the last day of winter.

Stefan leaped out of the bed, but on his shirt, his pants, his bandana, tucked his dagger and left putting his boots on. When he exited the Palivar, he was fully dressed, and running in an almost desperate manner, only pausing to see the horizon. The daylight was bright, but the streets of the Flotilla were completely empty: a sign of the upcoming danger that loomed over.

The his mind racing, the young man knew that he needed higher ground, and quick, but that was somewhat difficult considering that he was on a city of ships. But of course, that meant one thing: the masts. Breathing the salty air of the Suvan, Stefan climbed the mast of the Maiden of the Seas; again reciting the mantra of every finger’s a fishhook. It took him around ten chimes of careful climbing, grabbing the ropes and taking the time to get proper footing, but when he was on top of the viewpoint, he managed to get a clear look of the surroundings and the Flotilla. The young bard looked for a brigantine, though he couldn’t identify the flag, since they hid it away.

But there it was. On the north, judging by the position of the sun, there was he black flag, depicting a skeleton drowning on the waves; the flag of the Laviku’s Pride. He’ll have to ask why in the name of Rhaus’ beard they raised the flag. But now, he knew where it was, and was able to get to the place in question. But first, he needed to get down, and quickly before someone managed to see him, so he examined the bottom.

There was only the wood of the deck of the ships as far as he could see, except for a small patch, between the some rope bridges, with a small pond of water, probably the water bellow the Flotilla itself.

What where the odds of survival? Stefan only thought about them for a couple of seconds, before taking the leap of faith towards the water, taking a dive jump with his hands in front of him, and the eyes closed shut.

First, there was the wind on his face for a couple of seconds, and the rush of adrenaline that his blood pumped on his body. Then, there was the splash of cold sea water surrounding his body, and when he opened his eye, there was absolute darkness. Did he make it? He couldn’t be sure. Looking up, there was a patch of light, similar of the water from before...

Letting the air out in form of bubbles from his nose, he quickly swam up to the surface. The air filled his lungs as soon as he was out, but the adrenaline was still there; enough to keep him warm and made him climb the ropes easily again. Now that he was on the ground, and knew where the brigantine was, he started to run like there was no tomorrow.

Stefan crossed decks of countless ships, travelled by the zip lines, leaped on the rope bridges in an acrobatic fashion, without looking at anything else but the path that the sun dictated. The cool air was enough to dry him, and the adrenaline kept him going, with his heart making the rhythmic beating that he loved so much.

However, in that moment, the thundering voice of Iman was much sweeter than that, calling out for anybody who would have been left behind. But as soon as he saw Stefan on one of the bridges, he laughed loudly and heartily “Shantyman! We all thought you were dead!”

“Keep dreaming, Iman!” he said with a huge, thrilled smile on his face, as he took the hand of the quartermaster to get himself of the deck of his ship “You all will not get rid of me so easily!”

“Stefan, we got the lemons, but I suppose than that is your least concern...”

“Well, I’m glad that I didn’t almost die for nothing!” he chuckled “Also, why did you raised the flag? That could have got us killed!”

“We needed something for you to see if you were still alive, captain’s orders. But that doesn’t matter right now; get under the deck!”

"You don't have to tell me that twice!"