Old Stories
Posted: Thu Feb 20, 2014 3:02 pm
So I found a few old stories in a file I had forgotten about. Not sure I ever posted them so I will post them here. The first was a short piece about some background surrounding House Gray.
Tale of the Grimy Mariner
Bosun Kif swung the sack of wheat from the hold and into the waiting cargo net with apparent ease. Seaman Drake barely keeping pace with the man 30 years his senior could only marvel at the old man’s strength as he hurled the 100lb bags of grain. Kif neither paused nor spoke as he moved the grain bound for House Gray but something haunted his pale blue eyes that Drake could not ignore.
“Sumthin’ troublin’ ye Bosun?” Drake asked finally.
Kif shot Drake a glare that would stop a charging orc before he grunted a barely audible reply.
“Leave it.”
Kif continued chucking the sacks of grain as before but Drake saw the haunted look in the bosun’s eyes. Not one to argue with the ill tempered bosun, Drake fell back to his duties and tried to keep up with the old man.
As the last sack of grain was tossed on the pile Kif and Drake secured the netting around the load and gave a sharp tug on the rope.
“Haul away lads!” Kif called up to the deck hands before he turned and muttered, “Good riddance.” The bosun stalked over to another cargo bin to prepare the next load.
“Good riddance?” queried Drake half fearing to press the issue with Kif.
The bosun worked on without pause seeming to ignore the Seaman at first. The next load ready Kif moved to spread out the next cargo net muttering as he did so apparently to himself, “Cursed island and bloody cursed House it is.”
Drake listened closely but did not press the bosun further. On the very rare occasion when Kif talked about things that disturbed him he frequently seemed to talk to himself about the issue. Folks had long ago learned to leave Kif be as he did so and not ask questions. Kif was not a man the crew took lightly. With the next cargo net spread out and ready to load Kif and Drake began moving crates bound for the Gateway tavern as Kif continued to mutter.
“Freak weather, folk coming up dead or missin’. Right minded folk’d be leavin’ Mulrok afore annathin’ worse ‘appens.”
Drake thought back to the sacks of grain with the House Gray seal. Shipments had increased to the House in recent months but Drake thought little of it. What did he care how much rich folk ate as long as they left him alone. The crates bound for the Gateway were heavy but Drake’s body did the work dumbly without any thought. He was roused from his ruminations as Kif continued to grumble.
“Ain’t no right minded fella gonna take over that bakery neither aft’uh them murders. Black elf mischief that were.” Kif clenched his jaw as if to stop himself speaking but to no avail.
“Mate o’mine tells me he seen a drow there, shoor. Nice as ye please he says that black elf jes’ was let right into tha’ House Gray.”
Drake’s thoughts turned to the old former Mulrok baker and his wife and the rumors of what had happened to them. Folk in the Salty Dog said they were butchered like hogs. Some folk said it was the drow that had done it while others hinted at a darker culprit. No one would say the name but it seemed like everyone knew who it was. House Gray had even made the crier’s lists a few weeks back. No one was surprised when some of House Gray’s guards showed up to ‘talk’ to the crier. What could the crier do but rephrase his reports to speak favourably of the Grays? Kif’s thoughts seemed to be in the same place.
“Strong armed ‘im they done. Made ‘im stop reportin’ what all knew was goin’ on. We know’d they would. Me own cousin saw ‘em talkin’ to the crier and boom, next day ‘appy as ye please, suddenly Gray is soundin’ right nice inna reports.” Kif gathered the net and yanked the rope again. “Haul away lads!” and the crates for the Gateway squeaked their way out of the hold. Kif reviewed the cargo manifest, clenching his jaw in a vain effort to keep himself quiet.
Drake could only imagine what speaking of such things openly would bring. Mystery of one sort or another always followed House Gray and its’ members but never dark mystery. Never until now that is. Kif slammed down his charcoal pencil.
“Two loads an’ done. Never in my days haulin’ cargo fer Deek has Mulrok taken in only two loads of nuthin’. Bloody exodus it is.” He griped as he stormed aft and slammed the door behind him.
Drake had only been with Cappy Deek’s freighter service for a few years but that was long enough to know that Kif was right. Shipments of goods out to Mulrok had dropped off sharply in the last few months. Shipments out of Mulrok had changed too. The only cargo leaving the island were furnishings and household goods. Household goods that followed their owners away from Mulrok and towards presumably safer shores. Kif was right, the locals were leaving Mulrok.
A peal of thunder sounded in the skies above, its low slow rumble signaling one thing that was coming to Mulrok with greater frequency. Storms.
Tale of the Grimy Mariner
Bosun Kif swung the sack of wheat from the hold and into the waiting cargo net with apparent ease. Seaman Drake barely keeping pace with the man 30 years his senior could only marvel at the old man’s strength as he hurled the 100lb bags of grain. Kif neither paused nor spoke as he moved the grain bound for House Gray but something haunted his pale blue eyes that Drake could not ignore.
“Sumthin’ troublin’ ye Bosun?” Drake asked finally.
Kif shot Drake a glare that would stop a charging orc before he grunted a barely audible reply.
“Leave it.”
Kif continued chucking the sacks of grain as before but Drake saw the haunted look in the bosun’s eyes. Not one to argue with the ill tempered bosun, Drake fell back to his duties and tried to keep up with the old man.
As the last sack of grain was tossed on the pile Kif and Drake secured the netting around the load and gave a sharp tug on the rope.
“Haul away lads!” Kif called up to the deck hands before he turned and muttered, “Good riddance.” The bosun stalked over to another cargo bin to prepare the next load.
“Good riddance?” queried Drake half fearing to press the issue with Kif.
The bosun worked on without pause seeming to ignore the Seaman at first. The next load ready Kif moved to spread out the next cargo net muttering as he did so apparently to himself, “Cursed island and bloody cursed House it is.”
Drake listened closely but did not press the bosun further. On the very rare occasion when Kif talked about things that disturbed him he frequently seemed to talk to himself about the issue. Folks had long ago learned to leave Kif be as he did so and not ask questions. Kif was not a man the crew took lightly. With the next cargo net spread out and ready to load Kif and Drake began moving crates bound for the Gateway tavern as Kif continued to mutter.
“Freak weather, folk coming up dead or missin’. Right minded folk’d be leavin’ Mulrok afore annathin’ worse ‘appens.”
Drake thought back to the sacks of grain with the House Gray seal. Shipments had increased to the House in recent months but Drake thought little of it. What did he care how much rich folk ate as long as they left him alone. The crates bound for the Gateway were heavy but Drake’s body did the work dumbly without any thought. He was roused from his ruminations as Kif continued to grumble.
“Ain’t no right minded fella gonna take over that bakery neither aft’uh them murders. Black elf mischief that were.” Kif clenched his jaw as if to stop himself speaking but to no avail.
“Mate o’mine tells me he seen a drow there, shoor. Nice as ye please he says that black elf jes’ was let right into tha’ House Gray.”
Drake’s thoughts turned to the old former Mulrok baker and his wife and the rumors of what had happened to them. Folk in the Salty Dog said they were butchered like hogs. Some folk said it was the drow that had done it while others hinted at a darker culprit. No one would say the name but it seemed like everyone knew who it was. House Gray had even made the crier’s lists a few weeks back. No one was surprised when some of House Gray’s guards showed up to ‘talk’ to the crier. What could the crier do but rephrase his reports to speak favourably of the Grays? Kif’s thoughts seemed to be in the same place.
“Strong armed ‘im they done. Made ‘im stop reportin’ what all knew was goin’ on. We know’d they would. Me own cousin saw ‘em talkin’ to the crier and boom, next day ‘appy as ye please, suddenly Gray is soundin’ right nice inna reports.” Kif gathered the net and yanked the rope again. “Haul away lads!” and the crates for the Gateway squeaked their way out of the hold. Kif reviewed the cargo manifest, clenching his jaw in a vain effort to keep himself quiet.
Drake could only imagine what speaking of such things openly would bring. Mystery of one sort or another always followed House Gray and its’ members but never dark mystery. Never until now that is. Kif slammed down his charcoal pencil.
“Two loads an’ done. Never in my days haulin’ cargo fer Deek has Mulrok taken in only two loads of nuthin’. Bloody exodus it is.” He griped as he stormed aft and slammed the door behind him.
Drake had only been with Cappy Deek’s freighter service for a few years but that was long enough to know that Kif was right. Shipments of goods out to Mulrok had dropped off sharply in the last few months. Shipments out of Mulrok had changed too. The only cargo leaving the island were furnishings and household goods. Household goods that followed their owners away from Mulrok and towards presumably safer shores. Kif was right, the locals were leaving Mulrok.
A peal of thunder sounded in the skies above, its low slow rumble signaling one thing that was coming to Mulrok with greater frequency. Storms.