mikotian
30-10-2006, 03:55 AM
This will be Chapter 1, I will post as I finish each chapter. Tell me what you think! Also, title suggestions are welcome!
CH1
I drummed my fingers lightly against the weathered counter, my head cradled in my palm. I appear to be snoozing in the warm sunlight that pooled around me, but my workers know better. I'd caught every single one of them trying to cheat me at least once whilst they thought I was dozing, but a few stripes on the back educated most of them pretty well. They worked on industriously, a troop of gnomes rolled barrels of good Darkshire salted hams through the commons for storage in the back; clerks bustled about, keeping eyes on the customers and keeping the place fresh and orderly.
Keeping a store on the waterfront isn't as easy as it looks. The customers are largely no-good gang-pressed scallywags who wouldn't hesitate to pocket a bit of jerky or a handful of sweets--and my 'employees' aren't much better. It takes a special man to run a place like that--shrewd, careful and calculating--in other words, me! But the truth is, if anyone had tried to cheat me just then, I probably wouldn't have noticed. I had bigger fish to fry.
After six years of looting and plundering, the dread pirate-knight of the Southern Maelstrom had finally been caught by the Admiralty, his fleet scattered, his crew burned and crucified. It was the spectacle of the decade when the Guards dragged the barefoot pirate--still clothed in his ragged but once dashing uniform--in chains through the streets of Thorin Watch. Men, goblins, orcs and denizens of a dozen other races flooded the city from as far away as Booty Bay just to catch a glimpse of him. Me? I didn't really care. As far as I was concerned, the pirate-knight never really bothered me. But I didn't particularly mind the flood of paying customers, so I cheered the Guards like the rest of the crowd when they strutted past.
But, I digress! I didn't give a hoot about the pirate, but I did give a mighty big hoot about the first Grand Galleon from Kalimdor in ten years. Now, to the uninitiated, a treasure galleon isn't just a ship, it is the biggest, grandest, richest ship man, orc or goblin has ever laid eyes on. Once sent every two years by the Warchief himself--to foster trade and friendship, as he put it--the last five ships succumbed either to pirates or storms springing from the raging maelstrom. But, according to our farseers and water scryers, this one passed the gauntlet intact and was due any day. The holds were reportedly bulging with bolts of mageweave, runecloth and tanned quillboar hides. Everything from hippogryph feathers to rune-etched war blades were packed in magic sealed crates from bow to stern. The cargo will be worth more than fifty thousand of gold pieces, perhaps even seventy thousand, I mused wildly, saliva unconsciously pooling in my mouth. There was plenty of profit to be made by a shrewd, careful and calculating man--like me!
I ticked off inventory silently. Seventy dwarven sharpshooter scopes, twelve barrels of premium aged Ironforge whiskey, twenty tanned tiger hides, a hundred large raptor eggs… What can I trade with those? How much can I sell each for? Should I hire a caravan to run to Ironforge, or hire a boat and run to Stormwind? Soon, all of it ran into each other like mush and all I could think of is the sound of tinkling gold coins as they are poured into my secret coffer. Oh pretty coins, twinkling and sparkling when the light hits them just so... Oh, how I will polish each and every one with my special cloth until they all shine like new!
"Ey, shopkeep! Wake up!" A rude voice startled me out of my reverie. A short fellow, with an ugly ferret face and yellow ferret teeth stood on the opposite side of my counter. He slapped the wood hard with a calloused hand, "Ey, I be talkin' to ye! Yea you, salt fer guts!"
I grunted in acknowledgement. "Gimme a barrel o' yer finest whiskey, a big one, ye hear?" I sighed. Another day, another dumb drunk sailor looking for trouble, I thought. I waved my hand, calling over my senior clerk, who typically handled annoying cases like this. Now, I don't discriminate against money. But, this fellow was dressed in little more than rags and he obviously hasn't bathed in a month, or three… I doubted he could afford more than two green apples.
The clerk, well trained and ever obedient, trotted over and said politely, "That will be a hundred pieces of gold sir, two hundred for the round cask." The sailor grimaced and looked away. This will be quick, I thought, the poor fool hasn't got the coin and he'll leave without making trouble. As soon as that thought flitted through my brain, the world went nuts.
The sailor, howling in rage, leaped across the counter. Before I knew it, his thick horned hands closed around my throat and his knobby, impossibly hard knee pinned me to the floor. He put his face a bare finger width from mine and screamed, "Ye son o' a naga whore! I'll shove ye n' a Kraken' beak if ye dun git m'whiskey jus now!" His breath reeked of month old cabbage and his words ran together into an incomprehensible stream of profanity. I froze to the ground, and my clerk stood rooted to the spot, with his mouth gaping open. I couldn't even understand what this fellow was saying now, how can I talk my way out of something like that!
But one thing I did understand. Suddenly, a cold fire lanced my throat. I rolled my eyes gingerly downwards and caught the soft sheen of a mage forged knife pressed against my flesh. The sailor's eyes glittered a little madly, and I moaned softly. (In my defense, anyone would've done the same!) "I's show ye to hold m'whiskey back, I's say!" He breathed, pressing the blade home just a fraction. I felt a drop of blood dancing down my throat. I closed my eyes.
Then, just as quickly everything went wrong, everything went back to normal. When I opened my eyes again, the knife was gone from my throat. Indeed, the sailor, who just moments ago was about to end my life, was nothing more than a tangle of arms and legs slumped next to me. I rubbed my throat gingerly, smeared the blood on my fingertips and looked around in wonderment. A miracle!
"You well, sir? That doesn't look like a deep cut, but maybe I can heal it just the same." The voice was soft but somehow sonorous, impossible to describe. It was even difficult to tell if it was male or female. The speaker, however, was definitely a man, tall and spare, the sun to his back obscuring his features. The hand he now extended to me was sinuous and strong.
"Err, well, thank you!" I pulled myself up. "Thank you!" I turned to my clerk, who was still standing there with his foolish mouth open. A wave of anger surged through me, and I reflexively cuffed the useless brute on the side of the head--which made me feel immediately and infinitely better. "Idiot!" I hissed, "Why do I feed you! Why do I pay you! Just so you can stand there like a clay dwarf and watch me get killed!" He, being a good and obedient clerk, only shook his head and stared at the floor.
My anger abated, and I turned to the man. At eye level, I could discern more of his features. Brown and sun scorched, rough but honest, I thought he had the face of a middle-aged roughneck peasant or woodsman. But his height and posture belied that assumption. "How did you do it?" I asked him, "How could you have stopped his knife?"
He shrugged noncommittally, "A trick, no more. Thank not me, but your clerk. If he hasn't been standing there dumbfounded, I never would have suspected that something was going on behind the counter." He nodded slightly to my good old clerk and briefly touched a gnarled finger to his forehead.
I made up mind just then to double the clerk's daily wages. The man continued, "Now, that cut." He reached out with the same brown finger and touched my throat. A wave of warmth washed through me, making even my littlest toe tingle. I didn't have to look at a mirror or touch my skin to know that the cut had been healed.
"Are you a mage? A Holy One from Stormwind, perhaps?" I gaped at him. Contrary to children's stories, these weavers of magic are as rare as true paladins. Aside from the old troll witch in our town, I have never seen a real mage or a priest that did more than impotently chant words from a book. Since the Splintering of the world, the true weavers had withdrawn more and more into their abodes and seldom ventured forth.
He chuckled. "No. I'm neither mage nor priest. Nor am I an ogre or troll, in case you were wondering." He started to walk to the door, and I doggedly followed, still trying to sort out the past minute. Pausing at the door, he plucked a Snowfall pear from a shelf, "I'll just take this, if you don't mind." I nodded eagerly. Without a further word, he turned and strode into the street.
Suddenly remembering my manners, I called after him, "What is your name!"
"Kaldra," he shot back.
"I'm Lim!" I yelled at his retreating back, "Come back any time!" He gave no indication of hearing me.
***
The next few days passed as merrily as any in the past year. Business was booming and no one stole more than the usual. My old goblin housekeeper burned a nice country ham in the oven and I thrashed him a bit. But my heart wasn't in it. Life was good, why spoil it with unnecessary unpleasantries? More importantly, news filtered into the town that the Grand Galleon would dock in less than a week!
In the past, the galleon had always docked in the deepwater port of Booty Bay. But, this year was my lucky year. The Admiralty succeeded in cornering the pirate-knight in a cove not far from Booty Bay Harbor, and the ensuing engagement drifted back and forth, eventually seeping into the harbor itself. The battles between naga sea-witches, goblin bombers and water-shaper mages stirred up so much sediment that Booty Bay had no chance of berthing such a deep-drafted ship. In their infinite wisdom, the Steemwheedle Cartel decided that Thorin Watch, a hundred and fifty leagues north, should host the great ship instead. So, soon, a flood of merchants and eager peasants and townspeople would flood the town--all of them flush with coin, which I will be around to collect. Besides, as a leading merchant in the town, who knows what deals I'll be able to negotiate with the captain!
Preparations for the galleon's arrival absorbed my days and nights. New inventory had to be bought, the books had to be kept up to date, warehouses need to be cleaned and inventoried and temporary workers had to be hired. As to the man who saved me and promptly disappeared, I gave little further thought. I figured, if he wanted a reward, he would have come back already, I made that clear. If he doesn't come back for a reward, I have no problems saving a gold piece or two.
Before I knew it, the ship arrived.
Even to a seasoned merchant living in a reasonably bustling port, I was impressed. The gargantuan bulk, made from seasoned and partially enchanted Blackbog oaks, cast a shadow fifty spans long on the dock as tug boats maneuvered it into position. The ropes used to secure the ship were as thick as a man's thighs and had to be handled by trained ogres; the masts could be seen a half a league away and were four spans around; the lonely sailor in the crow's nest looked no bigger than a toy. If I was impressed, the gathered crowds were simply awed. They ogled, chattered and gestured excitedly, and would have swarmed the ship if not for the grim faced guards with hands on sword hilts.
I wasted little time in such pedestrian pursuits as staring and hurried to business. My plan was simple. I would invite the good captain, whether he was gnome, goblin or human, to a lovely dinner at my house. Then, after he had been suitably plied with heavy Ironforge ale, I would negotiate a few business transactions and seal the pact by persuading him to set his mark to paper. It oughtn't be too difficult, especially after I produce a little gold to grease his palms. I hurriedly summoned my senior clerk, lent him my finest worgfur trimmed cloak, thrust a letter and a few coins into his hands and bade him to board the ship and deliver the letter to the captain. It may be slightly lacking in decorum to ask the captain so directly and so quickly, but there was no sense in letting those pesky goblin merchants get in front of me! In either case, the deed was done and now there was naught to do but wait.
***
CH1
I drummed my fingers lightly against the weathered counter, my head cradled in my palm. I appear to be snoozing in the warm sunlight that pooled around me, but my workers know better. I'd caught every single one of them trying to cheat me at least once whilst they thought I was dozing, but a few stripes on the back educated most of them pretty well. They worked on industriously, a troop of gnomes rolled barrels of good Darkshire salted hams through the commons for storage in the back; clerks bustled about, keeping eyes on the customers and keeping the place fresh and orderly.
Keeping a store on the waterfront isn't as easy as it looks. The customers are largely no-good gang-pressed scallywags who wouldn't hesitate to pocket a bit of jerky or a handful of sweets--and my 'employees' aren't much better. It takes a special man to run a place like that--shrewd, careful and calculating--in other words, me! But the truth is, if anyone had tried to cheat me just then, I probably wouldn't have noticed. I had bigger fish to fry.
After six years of looting and plundering, the dread pirate-knight of the Southern Maelstrom had finally been caught by the Admiralty, his fleet scattered, his crew burned and crucified. It was the spectacle of the decade when the Guards dragged the barefoot pirate--still clothed in his ragged but once dashing uniform--in chains through the streets of Thorin Watch. Men, goblins, orcs and denizens of a dozen other races flooded the city from as far away as Booty Bay just to catch a glimpse of him. Me? I didn't really care. As far as I was concerned, the pirate-knight never really bothered me. But I didn't particularly mind the flood of paying customers, so I cheered the Guards like the rest of the crowd when they strutted past.
But, I digress! I didn't give a hoot about the pirate, but I did give a mighty big hoot about the first Grand Galleon from Kalimdor in ten years. Now, to the uninitiated, a treasure galleon isn't just a ship, it is the biggest, grandest, richest ship man, orc or goblin has ever laid eyes on. Once sent every two years by the Warchief himself--to foster trade and friendship, as he put it--the last five ships succumbed either to pirates or storms springing from the raging maelstrom. But, according to our farseers and water scryers, this one passed the gauntlet intact and was due any day. The holds were reportedly bulging with bolts of mageweave, runecloth and tanned quillboar hides. Everything from hippogryph feathers to rune-etched war blades were packed in magic sealed crates from bow to stern. The cargo will be worth more than fifty thousand of gold pieces, perhaps even seventy thousand, I mused wildly, saliva unconsciously pooling in my mouth. There was plenty of profit to be made by a shrewd, careful and calculating man--like me!
I ticked off inventory silently. Seventy dwarven sharpshooter scopes, twelve barrels of premium aged Ironforge whiskey, twenty tanned tiger hides, a hundred large raptor eggs… What can I trade with those? How much can I sell each for? Should I hire a caravan to run to Ironforge, or hire a boat and run to Stormwind? Soon, all of it ran into each other like mush and all I could think of is the sound of tinkling gold coins as they are poured into my secret coffer. Oh pretty coins, twinkling and sparkling when the light hits them just so... Oh, how I will polish each and every one with my special cloth until they all shine like new!
"Ey, shopkeep! Wake up!" A rude voice startled me out of my reverie. A short fellow, with an ugly ferret face and yellow ferret teeth stood on the opposite side of my counter. He slapped the wood hard with a calloused hand, "Ey, I be talkin' to ye! Yea you, salt fer guts!"
I grunted in acknowledgement. "Gimme a barrel o' yer finest whiskey, a big one, ye hear?" I sighed. Another day, another dumb drunk sailor looking for trouble, I thought. I waved my hand, calling over my senior clerk, who typically handled annoying cases like this. Now, I don't discriminate against money. But, this fellow was dressed in little more than rags and he obviously hasn't bathed in a month, or three… I doubted he could afford more than two green apples.
The clerk, well trained and ever obedient, trotted over and said politely, "That will be a hundred pieces of gold sir, two hundred for the round cask." The sailor grimaced and looked away. This will be quick, I thought, the poor fool hasn't got the coin and he'll leave without making trouble. As soon as that thought flitted through my brain, the world went nuts.
The sailor, howling in rage, leaped across the counter. Before I knew it, his thick horned hands closed around my throat and his knobby, impossibly hard knee pinned me to the floor. He put his face a bare finger width from mine and screamed, "Ye son o' a naga whore! I'll shove ye n' a Kraken' beak if ye dun git m'whiskey jus now!" His breath reeked of month old cabbage and his words ran together into an incomprehensible stream of profanity. I froze to the ground, and my clerk stood rooted to the spot, with his mouth gaping open. I couldn't even understand what this fellow was saying now, how can I talk my way out of something like that!
But one thing I did understand. Suddenly, a cold fire lanced my throat. I rolled my eyes gingerly downwards and caught the soft sheen of a mage forged knife pressed against my flesh. The sailor's eyes glittered a little madly, and I moaned softly. (In my defense, anyone would've done the same!) "I's show ye to hold m'whiskey back, I's say!" He breathed, pressing the blade home just a fraction. I felt a drop of blood dancing down my throat. I closed my eyes.
Then, just as quickly everything went wrong, everything went back to normal. When I opened my eyes again, the knife was gone from my throat. Indeed, the sailor, who just moments ago was about to end my life, was nothing more than a tangle of arms and legs slumped next to me. I rubbed my throat gingerly, smeared the blood on my fingertips and looked around in wonderment. A miracle!
"You well, sir? That doesn't look like a deep cut, but maybe I can heal it just the same." The voice was soft but somehow sonorous, impossible to describe. It was even difficult to tell if it was male or female. The speaker, however, was definitely a man, tall and spare, the sun to his back obscuring his features. The hand he now extended to me was sinuous and strong.
"Err, well, thank you!" I pulled myself up. "Thank you!" I turned to my clerk, who was still standing there with his foolish mouth open. A wave of anger surged through me, and I reflexively cuffed the useless brute on the side of the head--which made me feel immediately and infinitely better. "Idiot!" I hissed, "Why do I feed you! Why do I pay you! Just so you can stand there like a clay dwarf and watch me get killed!" He, being a good and obedient clerk, only shook his head and stared at the floor.
My anger abated, and I turned to the man. At eye level, I could discern more of his features. Brown and sun scorched, rough but honest, I thought he had the face of a middle-aged roughneck peasant or woodsman. But his height and posture belied that assumption. "How did you do it?" I asked him, "How could you have stopped his knife?"
He shrugged noncommittally, "A trick, no more. Thank not me, but your clerk. If he hasn't been standing there dumbfounded, I never would have suspected that something was going on behind the counter." He nodded slightly to my good old clerk and briefly touched a gnarled finger to his forehead.
I made up mind just then to double the clerk's daily wages. The man continued, "Now, that cut." He reached out with the same brown finger and touched my throat. A wave of warmth washed through me, making even my littlest toe tingle. I didn't have to look at a mirror or touch my skin to know that the cut had been healed.
"Are you a mage? A Holy One from Stormwind, perhaps?" I gaped at him. Contrary to children's stories, these weavers of magic are as rare as true paladins. Aside from the old troll witch in our town, I have never seen a real mage or a priest that did more than impotently chant words from a book. Since the Splintering of the world, the true weavers had withdrawn more and more into their abodes and seldom ventured forth.
He chuckled. "No. I'm neither mage nor priest. Nor am I an ogre or troll, in case you were wondering." He started to walk to the door, and I doggedly followed, still trying to sort out the past minute. Pausing at the door, he plucked a Snowfall pear from a shelf, "I'll just take this, if you don't mind." I nodded eagerly. Without a further word, he turned and strode into the street.
Suddenly remembering my manners, I called after him, "What is your name!"
"Kaldra," he shot back.
"I'm Lim!" I yelled at his retreating back, "Come back any time!" He gave no indication of hearing me.
***
The next few days passed as merrily as any in the past year. Business was booming and no one stole more than the usual. My old goblin housekeeper burned a nice country ham in the oven and I thrashed him a bit. But my heart wasn't in it. Life was good, why spoil it with unnecessary unpleasantries? More importantly, news filtered into the town that the Grand Galleon would dock in less than a week!
In the past, the galleon had always docked in the deepwater port of Booty Bay. But, this year was my lucky year. The Admiralty succeeded in cornering the pirate-knight in a cove not far from Booty Bay Harbor, and the ensuing engagement drifted back and forth, eventually seeping into the harbor itself. The battles between naga sea-witches, goblin bombers and water-shaper mages stirred up so much sediment that Booty Bay had no chance of berthing such a deep-drafted ship. In their infinite wisdom, the Steemwheedle Cartel decided that Thorin Watch, a hundred and fifty leagues north, should host the great ship instead. So, soon, a flood of merchants and eager peasants and townspeople would flood the town--all of them flush with coin, which I will be around to collect. Besides, as a leading merchant in the town, who knows what deals I'll be able to negotiate with the captain!
Preparations for the galleon's arrival absorbed my days and nights. New inventory had to be bought, the books had to be kept up to date, warehouses need to be cleaned and inventoried and temporary workers had to be hired. As to the man who saved me and promptly disappeared, I gave little further thought. I figured, if he wanted a reward, he would have come back already, I made that clear. If he doesn't come back for a reward, I have no problems saving a gold piece or two.
Before I knew it, the ship arrived.
Even to a seasoned merchant living in a reasonably bustling port, I was impressed. The gargantuan bulk, made from seasoned and partially enchanted Blackbog oaks, cast a shadow fifty spans long on the dock as tug boats maneuvered it into position. The ropes used to secure the ship were as thick as a man's thighs and had to be handled by trained ogres; the masts could be seen a half a league away and were four spans around; the lonely sailor in the crow's nest looked no bigger than a toy. If I was impressed, the gathered crowds were simply awed. They ogled, chattered and gestured excitedly, and would have swarmed the ship if not for the grim faced guards with hands on sword hilts.
I wasted little time in such pedestrian pursuits as staring and hurried to business. My plan was simple. I would invite the good captain, whether he was gnome, goblin or human, to a lovely dinner at my house. Then, after he had been suitably plied with heavy Ironforge ale, I would negotiate a few business transactions and seal the pact by persuading him to set his mark to paper. It oughtn't be too difficult, especially after I produce a little gold to grease his palms. I hurriedly summoned my senior clerk, lent him my finest worgfur trimmed cloak, thrust a letter and a few coins into his hands and bade him to board the ship and deliver the letter to the captain. It may be slightly lacking in decorum to ask the captain so directly and so quickly, but there was no sense in letting those pesky goblin merchants get in front of me! In either case, the deed was done and now there was naught to do but wait.
***