[SOLO] A New Sword and an Old Salt (Completed)

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Timestamp: 01 Winter 511, late afternoon Location: Patchwork Port It had taken Daske the better part of the day to cross Glasswater Bay, and he was tired. A stiff breeze was behind him and he was coming in fast on the harbor that served Alvadas. Having never been here before, he made a wide arc that took him past the docks and back out into the bay. This allowed him to see how the harbor was laid out and to pick a place to tie up. On his second pass, he dropped the jib as he flew past the spot he had in mind, and then executed a tight 180 degree turn, which brought the boat up into the wind. He let the mains'l go free, and let the boat's momentum carried him along side the dock until he reached the spot he where he intended to tie up, at which point he trimmed the main just enough to bring the boat to a stop. It was a textbook perfect docking … almost. He had misjudged the distance and had stopped about four feet away from the dock. The wind was starting push him backward. “Damn,” he said to himself as he reached for the jib sheet to pull the jib over to one side so it would catch the wind and pull him out of irons, allowing him to sail back out into the bay. “Toss me a line, mate,” called out a grizzled looking man standing on the dock. It was more of an order than a request. Daske grabbed the stern docking line and threw it. Then he stepped up around the cabin, freed the bow docking line and threw it as well. The man neatly caught both lines and gave a them a great heave to pull the twenty-eight foot Casinor up against the wooden dock, no small feat given how heavy the boat was. He tossed the bow line to Daske as Daske jumped off the boat on to the dock. Daske secured the bow line to a cleat while the stranger did the same with the stern line. “Thanks,” said Daske grudgingly. He was embarrassed by his performance. But the old man just held out his hand and gave him what was probably intended to be a smile but looked more like a grimace. “Welcome to Patchwork Port, son. I'm Wharf.” Daske didn't particularly like being called “son”, but the man did look old enough to be his father so he let it go. “I'm Daske,” he said as he shook the Wharf's hand. It was a rough and wrinkled hand and came with a surprisingly firm grip. Daske had no doubt that he was in the presence of a genuine “old salt.” “I imagine you're headed fer the city. Been there before?” Daske shook his head. “Just follow that street up there and it'll take you out of town. The road'll wind around a bit but it's eventually gonna bring you to the Gaping Maw. Treat ol' stone face nice an' he'll let you into the city.” He turned and walked away chuckling at some private joke.

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Timestamp: 01 Winter 511, late afternoon Location: Alvadas The road dead-ended in front of a gigantic stone face built into a great wall of stone. Daske assumed this was the entrance to Alvadas but he did not see a way in. He looked around for someone to ask about it but he was alone. Or not. A loud gravelly voice came from the stone face. “You have come in search of the City of Illusion. Tell me, stranger, why are you here?” Daske looked up at the face. It was watching him, which totally creeped him out. Well, he thought. Wharf did say to be nice to the stone face. I guess he wasn't kidding. “Uhm … I'm here to purchase supplies.” There was a pause and then the face's mouth opened like a gaping maw, revealing a passage way leading into the city. Daske entered the City of Illusion. Daske proceeded down what appeared to be the main street leading away from the Gaping Maw and into the city proper. He came to a sign pointing to the left. It said, “Shops and Businesses”. That seemed promising. He turned down the street and found himself ankle deep in mud. He was pretty sure it had not been there a moment ago. He stepped back, but the street he had just come from was gone. In its place was a narrow alley filled with knee-deep water. The sign was still there, but now it pointed in the opposite direction, toward the water-filled alley. What the hell's going on here? he muttered under his breath. He waded down the alley and stopped in front of a cafe. Two humans, a man and a woman, were just coming out. They seemed unfazed by the water and proceeded to wade past him. He addressed them in Common. “Uhm, excuse me. Can you point me in the direction of a shop that sells weapons?” They both stopped and turned toward him. The woman had a slightly amuse look on her face. The man said, “You're not from around here, are you?” “Uh, no,” said Daske. “Well, if you keep going in the general direction you're headed now, you might find yourself at Kitrean Krafts. Or not. It's hard to say. Anyway, that's your best bet.” With that they turned and walked off, hopping over and around patches of hot coals as they went. Daske looked down at his feet. He was no longer standing in knee-deep water. He was standing in a pile of hot coals and his shoes were starting to smoke. He jumped to one side and ran into the cafe. Unfortunately, the cafe had vanished and he found himself in a clothing store instead. “Crap!” he said in Pavi. “Ah, you must not be from around here.” A female store clerk was looking at him from behind a counter. An hour or so later, Daske found himself standing in front of a shop that advertised itself as Kitrean Krafts. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, hoping he had been fast enough to avoid entering some other establishment instead. A wide selection of swords was hanging on a wall to the left as he entered the shop. Among them he found a number of cutlasses, some plain and others fancy. One in particular caught his eye. It's steel blade positively shined. “A fine cutlass.” Daske jumped and turned to find himself toe to toe with a large, muscle-bound Isurian. “For a fine looking Svefra.” Obviously he had noticed Daske's eyes as soon as he had turned around. He had a deep, booming voice. “Yours for the paltry sum of twenty gold mizas.” Daske turned back to the weapons. “Uhm, that's a little steep for me.” He moved his attention to three less expensive looking cutlasses. He could feel the big man's eyes watching him from behind. After a while the man spoke again. “You're an odd one, aren't you?” Daske spun around to face him and demanded: “What's that supposed to mean?” The man appeared unperturbed by Daske's defensiveness. “Well, plain dark green shirt, gray pants, brown shoes, no brightly colored scarf. You're dressed downright somber-like for a Svefra.” “It's my business what I wear or don't wear,” retorted Daske. “Indeed it is, my friend. Indeed it is. I'm just curious is all. I figure there's a story in there somewhere.” Daske considered this. There was really no reason for him to be rude. The man meant him no harm. “I grew up on the plains of Cyphrus. A slave. I guess I never developed a taste for brightly colored clothes.” “Ah,” the man nodded sagely. “And now you're sailing the high seas trying to figure out what it means to be Svefra.” Daske must have looked puzzled, because he continued, “The cutlass. The only reasons I can think of for you being interested in a cutlass is 'cuz you think it might make you more Svefra-like.” Daske wasn't sure how to respond to that so he turned back to weapons and continued examining the cheaper-looking cutlasses. He could feel the man still watching him. “So. How much can you afford?” Daske didn't turn around. “Twelve gold mizas.” “Hmm. You drive a hard bargain my young Svefra. But what the hell. Sold!” boomed the big man. “To the Svefra trying to find himself.” It was dark by the time Daske got back to his boat. The dock was deserted. He climbed aboard the Black Lady, checked the sails and rigging, and went below deck to fix himself a late dinner. While he ate he thought about Alvadas. “Strangest damned place I've ever seen,” he said out loud. Then he turned in for the night. Ledger : Kitrean Krafts 1 x Cutlass 12 gm

[Daske Baggywrinkle]

Timestamp: 02 Winter 511, early morning Location: Patchwork Port The next morning he was sitting in the Lady's cockpit smoking his pipe when he saw Wharf on the next dock over. He stood up and waved. Wharf saw him and headed over his way. “Well, son, did you find what you was lookin' fer?” “I did,” said Daske, holding up his new cutlass. “Ah,” said Wharf. “A Svefra's weapon of choice. Ya know how to use it?” “Not really. But I'll learn.” “I'm sure you will.” Daske invited the old salt on board and they sat and talked for a while. Then Daske turned the conversation to a couple questions he had. “Wharf, I'm figurin' on shipping out as crew on a merchant ship for a time, and I'm wondering where I can moor the Black Lady while I'm gone? I'd be willing to pay someone to keep an eye on her.” “You wanna be talkin' to Max Brindle. He'll be over on that dock at the far end of the boardwalk.” He pointed to a dock on the other side of the harbor. “He takes care of folks' boats for 'em all the time. And he don't charge too much. He lost a leg to a shark a few years back and can't do much now. So this is how he brings in a little money.” “I'll do that,” said Daske. “One other thing. I don't suppose you know of any merchant ships hiring crew just now?” Wharf scratched his chin and thought for a moment. Then he said, “I just might have somethin' fer ya, son.” OOC : To be continued as a separate story.

[Bedlam]

Thread Completed!

Daske

Experience:
1 Negotiation
2 Sailing

Lores:
When To Trust Signs

Notes:

You should remember that Svefra are generally not well welcomed. Daske isn’t too disagreeable, so I don’t find the way he’s treated in this thread too odd, but I think you deserve to know that merchant ships will generally be very hesitant to hire a Svefra onto their ship as part of their crew. Svefra are known on the high sees as pirates and thieves, not exactly the sort of shipmate you’d want to have.

However, they often hire Svefra ships to escort them through the waters. Of course, Svefra won’t attack the ship if another Svefra is escorting it—and if a pirate DOES attack, Svefra band and hunt the pirates down and destroy it. Because, in their eyes, everyone on the sea belongs to them, and the right to commandeer goods is theirs alone.