Ærtha Chapter One Draft

[Minosheep]

Yeah, decided to begin writing a little story I've been cooking up in my head for a while. This is a draft and is subject to change.
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Captain Romar's eyes were fixated firmly ahead as his small ship cut a path through the murky water. Their target was ahead, with all of its lights burning brightly... it practically begged to be robbed by the pirates that so frequently sailed these waters. They were close to the shores of Rivarli; the merchant ahead probably thought himself safe, protected by the sparse military of the nearby wealthy city of Venicia.

Smirking to himself, Romar reached with his left hand into the long coat he always wore. His right hand, mostly concealed by a fingerless leather glove, held tightly onto the haft of a stave that he used to help himself walk. Failing to find what he sought in his coat, he reached up to his trademark three-cornered hat and found it there, a small roll of paper with a sparse helping of tobacco in it.... It was the best he could do. Pickings were slim for his little crew.

He turned slowly in place to take in the sight of them. There were eight people manning this ship including Romar, and it was for one of them that the captain looked. The sound of his walking was unmistakable; his heavy footfalls were interspersed by the butt of his walking stave making contact with the wood of the deck. It was still damp from the earlier rain, Romar noted, disappointed at the dulling of that purposely-ominous thump.

Suppressing a sigh at his lessened grandeur, he paused to light the excuse for a cigarette on a lantern, then continued to the aft of the ship, where he leaned against the railing across from a shorter, stockier man currently stringing his abnormally tall bow.

"We're almost on them," commented Romar, leaning his stave against the rail beside him and looking over to the other man, who was silent. "Think it'll be a good haul?"

Finishing with his bow, the stocky man shrugged. "I don't really like it, Cap'n Romar. Seems too convenient."

"You're just overanalyzing again, Legorin," said Romar, taking a drag of the cigarette and then letting the smoke trail out toward the ship's prow as the wind took it. "The Armada gave up on us long ago. Haven't been able to catch this quick little ship, thanks in no small part to Cefando." He indicated by pointing with his cigarette toward the ship's helm, where a tall, wispy man whose hip bore a rapier was looking bored. Cefando was one of the newest to the crew, and had proved his worth time and time again in the short time he was with them.

Legorin smiled, nodding his agreement. "Arr, I don't think Venicia's Ebony General himself can navigate as well as our Cefando can."

Romar hoped Legorin didn't notice him cringe at the mention of the famous Ebony General, commander of most of the army's military operations. Romar and the Ebony General had had some rather bad dealings in the past, and Romar really didn't want to think about it. "Be a better haul for having Dularin with us," he said by way of changing the subject, smoke curling like tormented fingers around Romar's hand as the wind slackened. This time he pointed to a short, thin man who was inspecting their prey with a telescope. He was rather reminiscent of a rat, with a thin, stubbled face. Romar half-expected Dularin's nose to twitch.

"A good merchant, wasn't he?" asked Legorin, before grinning nastily. "Gutted plenty o' merchants in my time, but this one ain't betrayed us yet, has he?" The shorter of the two friends pulled out a knife as a pointed gesture, his grizzled face taking on a new and deeply frightening mien. "Though you do watch him closely."

"Can't trust merchants," Romar explained himself shortly, then looked over at the third member of his crew. From out of the blue, he asked, "What do you think of that one?" The wind picked up again, and there was a creak from the helm as Cefando adjusted the ship's direction to accommodate. The smoke from Romar's cigarette blew out and wreathed the person he was indicating, a long-haired pikeman who was glaring at the ship in the distance intensely. "New to the crew, and seems to like the work."

Legorin nodded, beginning to run his knife over a whetstone. "Morrino's a decent crewman. Bad temper, though. Could land him in trouble sometime," he added with a flare of his nostrils. "Wouldn't call him useless though. Nah... only useless one is that one." He scowled in the direction of the wiry young man swabbing the deck.

Romar laughed aloud, drawing a few passing glances. He took a draw from the cigarette, then said, "Useless is right. I don't think I've ever had one as useless as Leroni." He took a moment to watch the man in his work. Leroni wore a sword, but as far as Romar could tell he didn't know much about using it. Or holding it correctly. Or not cutting himself with it when he had it out. It was exasperating, but Leroni had managed to keep himself alive so far.... And Romar somewhat pitied him. He was an orphan, with nowhere to go. "Not much else I can do with the lad, though, short of give him over to another crew."

"Or toss him to the sharks," growled Legorin. "Least he doesn't ask for a wage."

"We're almost on them," said Cefando from the ship's helm.

"They're moving slow," commented Dularin, studying them intently through his telescope. "And they're weighted down. Ship's low in the water."

"Bountiful," said Romar, holding his cigarette out over the ship's railing and, with deliberate slowness, letting it fall into the water. "Means it'll have plenty of guards on it. I'm expecting twenty or so.... They can't afford many more with the war with Feren going on." As he gathered up his staff and lifted his weight back onto his feet, he gave a little smile. "Means we'll have an easy time of it if we shoot them before they know what's happening. Might even be able to chase them into the shallows." Adjusting his trademark hat, Captain Romar walked to the prow of the ship at a slow, easy pace.

"Kill the lanterns, men.... We're going to surprise them."