Chapter 1
Your Strongest Stuff
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Richard slogged through the muck covering the streets of Oascera. A shanty town of pirates, thugs, and criminals, Oascera had no civilized infrastructure to speak of. The roads were no more than muddy gaps between haphazardly placed buildings. Everything was dull and colorless, any speck of whitewash or paint having long ago been blistered away by the baking sun and moist air. Windowless shacks made of knotted and warped lumber, what passed for a home here, leaned dangerously where they were not held upright by other nearby buildings. What appeared to be salvaged–or stolen–ships had been converted into larger structures. Here a porthole made for a window; there an overturned keel provided a slanting roof. More often than not, this chaotic menagerie of blundered engineering was stacked two or three stories high, one ill-thought home placed upon another. It was a quagmire to match that in Richard’s mind.
People teemed everywhere. The muddy street was churned by the feet of humans and halflings alike; most wore no shoes but instead strange wooden sandals that kept their feet out of the muck. Everybody was dressed in shabby and disheveled cloths. It stank of sweat and filth.
Richard stood out like a sore thumb in the malaise. Clad in shining scale-mail armor, and a white linen sash of his priesthood adorned with brass symbols of his faith, he glowed in the noonday sun. His shoulder-length brown hair, a single lock dyed golden-yellow framing one side of his face, was disheveled but far cleaner than that of any of the locals. Armed with a longsword, crossbow, mace, and buckler, Richard thought himself well prepared for any trouble that might arise here. He noticed eyes lingering on his weapons, glances that often turned hateful.
Richard had seen no women since he arrived yesterday. Shapes stirred in the shadowy alleys that joined the road and sinister eyes peered from darkened doorways. Every person Richard had seen on the street was armed, most with crude daggers or makeshift cudgels that were in truth scrap wood. The entire city had a feel of danger and lawlessness. This must be a very dangerous place for women, Richard thought.
He thumbed the holy symbol at his neck. So much evil concentrated in one place. In only the day he had been in town, Richard had learned a lot about Oascera. The wealthiest pirate captains, made rich by a ludicrous illegal arms trade spurred by the war between the three super-nations, divided up the town amongst each other. Each had fleets of commandeered vessels at their disposal, and small armies of street-toughs, gangsters, and thugs willing to do their dirty work.
Commodore Benjamin seemed to be the man with the most power, currently. Many of the other pirate captains worked for him. He even had a fortress built on one end of the town, against the river. Captain Rodrego, the Commadore’s right hand man, was usually the second name on everyone’s lips. Most said Rodrego was a bulldog, a savage who stomped down Benjamin’s enemies without mercy.
That enemy was usually said to be Captain Bridges, the most powerful man not already in the Commodore’s employ. His fleet was small in comparison, but Bridges had withstood battles with Rodrego on the open water more than once.
Then there was the man people simply called Captain Horrible. Nobody thought him as wealthy or powerful as the others, but he had rightly earned his name. Some said that when Captain Horrible sacked a cargo ship, he would burn it–with the live crew trapped inside–rather than steal the craft. What his real name was, nobody could say. Everybody knew of him, but none knew of anyone who worked for him.
But all these criminal kings would face justice soon. Richard had sworn before his goddess that he would fight to better the world, and that he would honor the memory of his beloved Iald. How he could do it here in Oascera, though, he had no idea. Where would he even start? Heroes don’t get to choose the challenges that give rise to their fame, Richard told himself.
Soon Richard came upon a large structure that looked to have been built with a degree of intelligence. A sign next to the door read “Inn on the Rocks,” in the common tongue. The two story building had glass windows, though a few were broken, and a tiled roof. The sound of some stringed instrument floated out through the swinging saloon doors, along with the smells of food and drink. It looked like a well-off place, and in Oascera, wealth always led back to one of the pirate captains.
So he entered, hoping he could shake down some more information here. Richard badly needed to get some ideas about how to go about cleaning up this rotten city. Inside, the patrons of the Inn on the Rocks sat in mirthless conversation, drinking from wooden pints and smoking. Pipe smoke blanketed the ceiling, curling up from everywhere. It was so thick it stung Richard’s eyes and made the large common room dark and hazy even at this hour. A halfing bard sat on a stool in the far corner of the rectangular common room, playing an ironically upbeat song on his lute. Stairs to the right of the doorway led to the upper floor. The people here looked like the same riffraff as those in the streets.
But there was one table, close to the bar and doorway to what Richard assumed was the kitchen, which held a different breed of patron. Here sat three men who looked as out of place in Oascera as Richard did.
The first, facing away from Richard, had to be a full-blooded elf. His long, pointed ears were an obvious sign, but he also had the fragile frame of the elven-kind. A mass of shiny blonde hair cascaded down his back, over his chair and nearly to the floor, locked into a neat ponytail with a series of silver clasp bearing a sigil Richard didn’t recognize. He looked a warrior, wearing studded leather armor and holding a wicked glaive between his knees in front of himself, the blade of which was hoisted into the air amongst the pipe smoke.
Another man, this one a human, sat so that Richard saw him in profile. He was a slender, lanky man with a few days stubble accumulated on his face, and dark hair and eyes. He looked quite ordinary, wearing simple but nice clothes of linen and leather, with non-descript facial features. His exposed arms, though, rippled with muscle. Along his belt, a series of metal flasks seemed to be the only thing he had with him–Richard could see no weapons.
The third was also unarmed. This man, also human, wore the hood of his dark green cloak so that only his face and hands were exposed, but it failed to hide the fact that he was a powerfully built man. A small, sharp beard and serene brown eyes made him look older than Richard thought he really was.
Before the elf sat an empty shot glass–real glass, Richard noted–but each of the other men had a small pyramid of empty glasses stacked in front of them. The bartender stood close by, two half-full bottles of liquor in either hand.
The man with the non-descript face and powerful arms pointed a finger at the hooded one. “Y’know laddy, I think we could sit here awl night and not decide a winna,” the man spoke with a thick accent Richard couldn’t identify, his words slurred together. “How ‘bout we call’t a draw?”
The hooded man spoke slowly, his voice filled with the same serenity of his eyes and showing no signs of drunkenness. “Yes, perhaps we should.”
Richard walked up to the party, and abruptly sat down. The table was unfinished wood, and appeared to have had its top stabbed at with knives numerous times. Stains blotted its surface. “Well, I’ll have a drink,” he said to the bartender, who appeared to have been about to leave now that the contest was over. “A beer, though.”
“Sure thing, sir,” said the rotund and bearded proprietor, as he walked over to bar and went about storing the bottles of liquor.
The three at the table stared at him in question, so Richard awkwardly introduced himself. “Um, hello fellows. I see you’re not from around here, and obviously, neither am I. I’m Richard Abthule.”
The non-descript man extended his hand, and Richard returned it with a hearty shake. “Oi, m’name’s Jamesin.”
The hooded man nodded slightly, “I am known as Kay, nice to meet you.”
Lastly, the elf extended his hand up in a grand gesture, “I am Norial Archverandos! Perhaps you have heard of my family? I am important.”
Richard didn’t know much about nobility, especially not in these parts. He found it hard to believe anything resembling nobility existed in this area. Still, he searched his memory, looking for the name. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t.”
Norial looked displeased, “Then you are fool, never mind.” There was something… off in the elf’s blue eyes.
Richard was confused. Jamesin waved off Norial, “Ah, pay no attention ta him. He gave us the same routine.”
The bartender returned with Richard’s drink, and before long there was a lively conversation going around the table. Each one in turn explained how they had come to Oascera. Richard kept silent about his beloved Iald, not wanting to dredge up the painful memories, and said only that he was on a clerical mission here. When the others asked, he explained a bit about his goddess, Sif, and her tenets: strength, fighting for good, and protecting the weak. Jamesin spun a tale of how he had been captured by pirates, who then tried to ransom him off, unsuccessfully. Figuring he was worthless, the pirates had left him stranded here in Oascera. Kay, also, had been brought here against his will, but gave no explanation as to why. He had escaped his captors just this morning, when their ship docked. Norial expounded at length about how his noble family left him bored and hungering for adventure. None could argue that a scummy hole such as Oascera was a good place for that.
The group was laughing together, and Richard quickly forgot all about the investigating he had planned to do. It was the first time he had relaxed in awhile, so he didn’t feel too guilty. A distant thought stirred in the back of his head, and he realized that having allies, especially ones with grudges against pirates, could be very helpful.
Kay and Jamesin continued to boast to each other of their drinking ability, and it seemed their drinking contest would have to be reinitiated. Their bragging soon turned into dares at one another. Their voices climbed in volume, and Richard was beginning to notice the other customers were becoming irritated by them.
Before Richard could say anything, however, Kay suddenly raised his hand at the bartender. “Some of your strongest stuff, over here!” he called. The conversation fell away, and they all watched eagerly to see what the bartender had in store for Kay. Richard noticed muffled laughs and sadistic chuckles from the others in the Inn.
The bartender, having produced a shot glass and small bottle, moved over to the table. His face was creased with mock concern. “You sure?” he asked. Kay nodded, all his features still spoke only of serene confidence. “All right, but you gotta pay first. Two gold.” Two gold was extortion for a single shot, but Kay paid it without batting an eye. The bartender demanded he pay the rest of his tab now, also. Once it was all taken care of, the bartender removed the cork from the little bottle and poured the contents into the shot glass. Richard’s nose instantly picked up the burning smell of the alcohol, piercing through the heavy pipe smoke.
The small glass filled with clear liquor was set gingerly in front of Kay. People all across the common room of the Inn on the Rocks were paying attention now, anxious to see how this strange foreigner handled the drink. Even the bard had stopped his strumming.
Kay let the tension grow for a moment, then, much faster than anybody had expected, reached out and downed the potent drink in one gulp.
Instantly, he shot up from his chair, clutching at his throat and coughing. The glass clattered across the table, overturned. An uproar of laughter engulfed the room. Everybody was hollering and slapping at their knees, amused to no end at the stupidity of the foreigner. Richard was alarmed by the severity of Kay’s reaction, and got up to try and help his new friend.
Kay, in an attempt to move away from the table, tripped backwards over his chair. The hood of his cloak slipped from his head as he hit the floor. Immediately the laughter died and was replaced by a collective gasp.
Richard and the two other companions looked down in shock, at the ram-like horns sprouting from Kay’s head.
