Header Photo by Alan
A dimly lit tavern and it’s quiet shanty tunes offer a night of reprieve for weary sailors on this dark and stormy night.
Oh, and the mead. The mead helps a lot.
Resting in the corner with drink in hand sits a lone pirate. He mumbles to himself between drinks as a duo comes through the door. Soaked in rain, one of them is a burly woman of sorts, covered in tattoos, and the other a scrawny man missing a hand. They each take a seat next to the drunken pirate.
Betwixt their idle conversation, he lifts his head.
“Dark night,” he says.
“Aye,” the woman responds, “cold as well.”
“No colder than the night me and my crew met The Queen of Crests.”
The man sighs.
“Gods, not this again. Every bleedin’ tavern this happens,” he moans.
He gets up with, “can’t a man just have a drink in peace.”
The pirate man lies his head back down.
The duo get up to leave.
The pirate slams a few blue-ish coins on the table. They glow in the faint lamp-light. The woman and man look on with awe.
“What are these?” the woman asks, her eyes fixated on the their beauty.
“The story’s true, if ye care to hear it,” the pirate responds with a sly smirk.
Slowly they both sit back down.
The pirate takes a long chug of his mead.
“Our tale begins on a night much like this…”