Tom and Zib sat down by the large, bowed, wooden plank they had spent all morning shaping into the perfect curve for the side of the boat. The knot was clearly visible, but once they treated the beam it would blend right in and look more like a feature than a defect. They were proud of their work in spite of it not being the part of the ship they’d been intending to build that day. The two of them slumped against the structures holding up the beam and opened up their food bundles.
“What’d you bring today,” Zib asked.
“Salted fish and coconut crisps,” Tom replied. “You?”
“Pork jerky, starfruit leather, and a mango,” he replied smugly.
“How’d you afford all that?” Tom said. Then he took a moment to think. “How are you going to eat all that?”
“I caught a shipment coming in and bought it straight from the traders, and I’m not.” The little worker got to his feet. “I’m going to sell it.” He then proceeded to skip over to the other workers around the mill. Tom watched in awe as the Halfling bargained with the others until he returned to their station with a jingling pouch. “Thirteen silver for half the mango, half the leather, and one strip of the jerky.”
“You’re terrible,” said Tom, admiring the little carpenter’s haggling.
“I’m going to be rich,” Zib replied. “Here, I’ll let you have the rest of the mango, no charge. You need to add some fresh fruit to that.”
“Thanks,” Tom said, happily picking up the sticky, cut fruit and taking a bite out of it to wash down the dry, salty white fish he’d just been chewing on.
There was a crunching of leaves as swift footsteps approached from up the sloping side of the island. Burk was approaching once more. This was unexpected, though not unwanted. Burk had never stopped by during lunch.
“Hey, Burk, how’s it going?” Tom asked in greeting.
“It’s going fantastic!” Burk enthusiastically replied. “I got to see Doc pull a Coog Pearl out of the sea and I got to meet a Paladin from Jakross and I had beer and I got invited on an adventure and now I’m here to invite you guys on the same adventure… it’s been a great day.”
“Hold on,” Zib said, rising and chewing on a strip of dried starfruit. “Slow your roll, big guy. What’s a Coog Pearl?”
“It’s a magic thingy that Clerics use.”
“Okay, what is a Paladin?”
“It’s like a Cleric but louder.”
“Where is Jakross?”
“He said it’s one of the big continents across the ocean to the west.”
“Alright, one last question,” Zib said, pausing to swallow. “Why did the bartender let you have beer? You’re what, fourteen?”
“Sixteen next Tuesday,” said the monk, who stood an inch taller than the twenty year old Tom and nearly three feet taller than the Halfling scolding him.
“Then you’re still one Tuesday away from being legally allowed to drink,” Zib concluded, punctuating his statement by taking a bite of jerky.
“I think you’re missing the main point here, Zib,” Tom pointed out. “There’s an adventure out there, waiting for us.”
“Yes, and there’s gold for us right here,” he replied, shaking his coin purse.
“That’s silver,” corrected Tom.
“You get my point. Why risk our lives for gold when we can sit back and let the silver flow into our pockets?” Burk and Tom both grew quiet, unsure of how to respond to something so unequivocally single-minded.
“You’d be the ship’s carpenter,” Burk murmured.
Zib’s ears perked up. “What did you say?”
“Well,” Burk said, hesitantly, “if we set off on a voyage, and the ship is damaged, we’ll need an expert like you to fix it up.”
“her.”
“What?” Burk was confused.
“Fix her up. A ship is always a woman. And yes.”
“Yes?” Tom and Burk both asked in shocked unison.
“I’ll do it, for a cut of the adventuring spoils, of course” Zib looked back and forth between Burk and Tom, who were both dumbfounded. Neither had thought the little guy was going to say yes. Burk had only mumbled the mention of him acting as ship’s carpenter as an afterthought, a taunt, yet here he was, accepting the position.
“I… I suppose I can take you to talk to the Paladin tonight,” Burk said.
“Hey!” The Mill boss shouted, popping up from behind the large piece that Tom and Zib had finished shaping before lunch. “I just got a message form one of the deep sea fishers. There’s a band of pirates jacking boats out there.” He had apparently not heard Zib just say he was completely willing to leave his work and duties just for the title of Ship’s Carpenter. “That means we gotta postpone any and all work on the big ship until they’re taken care of.”
“Why’s that?” asked Tom, a bit worried by the prospect.
“We can’t shove off a brand new, record-setting boat when there are bandits floating about! All our hard work might end up at the bottom of the ocean or worse, being used against us. I’m sorry boys, but we may have to put you two on hold until this whole situation blows over.”
“On hold?” Zib asked, sounding a bit worried. “As in, quarter pay and chopping wood into lumber for the craftsmen?”
“The very same,” the gnome replied, his eyes closed and his head nodding apologetically.
“Boss, I’m sorry,” Zib retorted, “but that is bullshit. I will personally join the team that goes out and wipes those pirates off the map.”
“That’s what I like to hear!” The Boss said, a grin plastering itself across his little face. “Get out there, you three, and make me proud!” He then hopped down and vanished once more.
“Three?” Tom asked aloud. “Does he think I want to go? Does he think that Burk works for the mill?”
“Yes,” Zib replied after finishing up his meal. “Yes to both.” He balled up the cloth he’d carried his food here in and rose to his feet. “Regardless, I say we head into town and start looking for that Paladin and the Clergymen he’s been hanging around.” He suddenly realized the implications of this journey included traveling in close proximity to at least three devout worshipers of the sarcastic goddess of the sea. “I think I’m already regretting this.”
The trio made their way back through the forests towards the town and arrived back at the tavern to find Athastar regaling an audience of tavern-goers with tales of a ridiculous wizard whose entire life goal was to stick snakes to everything. Burk found himself immediately laughing along just by virtue of being around so many jubilant faces.
“Ah, he’s returned to us! And with friends!” the now somewhat flush Paladin called out upon hearing the monk’s guffaw. “Are these two more crewmates for the Dragon of the Tater?”
“We are not calling her that,” Zib immediately and dryly shot back, glaring up at the gargantuan man.
“He mean’s Dragon of the Tide,” Doc corrected. She seemed to be handling her ale far better than he and occasionally reached over to stabilize him. “The name doesn’t matter. We don’t have a real sea-faring ship yet, though I suppose there’s no rush.”
“Well there might be a bit of a rush, Doc,” Burk said, shuffling his feet slightly. “There seems to be some pirate activity that’s blocking up trade and production in the area. They need a brave group of sailors to go sort them out.”
“Brave group of slailors?” Athastar slurred. “Where could we possibly get one’v those?” He chuckled and whispered loudly to Doc, “Get it, I was being sarcastic like Cooglara would want.”
“Yes, I get it, now back up a bit your breath is rancid,” The cleric replied, pushing him back upright. “That’s quite a quest, but now we run into our little issue again. We don’t have a boat, and I doubt any of us have the proper funds to purchase one.”
“Hold on, don’t be so sure,” Nessa butted in, holding a glass of warm milk. “How much is a fishing boat?”
“350 gold pieces,” Zib replied. “Do you have 350 gold pieces?”
“I have 35 silver pieces.”
The entre group just sat in silence for a moment.
“I just spent most of my money on other people’s booze,” admitted Athastar.
“Let’s not just go listing off the amount of money each of us has at this very moment,” Doc cut in. “I think it’d be best if we spent the next week or so working whatever odd jobs we can find and then meet up here next Thursday and go from there.”
“I’ve actually got a somewhat successful business,” Carl put forward, “So that’s my job for the next seven days.”
“Can I come work for you?” Burk asks.
“No, that would get us nowhere,” Athastar explained. If he was using some of his profits to pay Burk, then he was taking the same amount of money out of his own pockets which just resulted in two people accumulating the same wealth as a singular person could otherwise. “I think we should all stick to our specialties… What’s your specialty, green one?”
“I can play a reed instrument pretty well.”
“I have no idea what that means, but go ahead and playaway. I bet someboby will pay good money for that sorta thing,” the Paladin said, still stumbling over his words.
“Right, it’s settled then,” Doc said, setting her flask down and hopping from the stool to the floor. “I might as well get started since I’m still pretty much sober. I’ll see you guys in a week if not before.”
“Bye bye, holy bro,” Athastar grumbled before chuckling to himself. Oddly enough, Doc liked the sound of that nickname, though she took that as a sign that the ale was starting to get to her.
Doc’s departure was followed shortly by that of Nessa, who had absolutely no idea what to do around here to make money. Then Carl went on back to his shop and Zib went out to look for some kind of woodworking job that paid more than the chopping block. As Burk was about to leave, Tom stopped him to make an inquiry.
“I’ve never really done anything other than work at that lumber mill,” he admitted. “I don’t really know what I can or should do to make money for our ship.”
“Then this might be a good time to figure out what else you’re good at,” Burk said in a hopeful tone. He’d been given a similar talk by the Abbot around his eighth birthday. He smiled at the young man. “You have a lifetime ahead of you, full of moments like these that the gods grant so that we might find out for ourselves who we are. Don’t waste it dwelling on what you’ve always done, go find out what you’re going to do next.” And with that, he pushed through the tavern doors and headed up to the abbey to retrieve his instrument.
Tom, too, left the tavern, walking much more slowly than his companions had, much less confident in each step than they had been. He wandered out onto the docks and asked around, only to find that Zib was presently working on some ship repairs for the boats that had hit the reef or been otherwise damaged. Tom, on the other hand, chose to work on one of the fishing vessels, casting wide nets and catching all types of fish from mahi-mahi to grouper to red snappers. It seemed that fish of all kinds swarmed around the island that afternoon.
Unfortunately, Tom wasn’t particularly good at discerning the good fish from the bad. Often the veterans of the trade scolded him for nearly throwing back perfectly good catches or keeping one that was too small or diseased. He didn’t seem to have the same knack as these long-time riders of the ebb and flow.
When he returned to shore, he accepted half a day’s payment and sulked down the docks towards the beaches. He began kicking a small, round stone across the sand, watching the grooves it created on the beach where it landed. He watched it skip over shells and get caught on coarser or wetter patches where the rolling of the stone couldn’t overcome the roughness of the beach. He then watched as he kicked it harder than he had intended and it went flying, striking someone in the back of the head a few yards away.
“Oh my goodness!” Tom shouted, running towards the figure. “I am so, so, so sorry for that. I didn’t see you there. Are you alright.”
“Yef, am fine,” came a very muffled, very distorted voice. As he approached, Tom noticed the person’s long, blonde hair, pointed ears, and slender figure.
“You’re that elf from the bar!” He said, perhaps more excited than he should have been to be recognizing somebody. “What are you doing out here?”
“Vell, I fried fo gef a vob deliffering bokfef, buh I opehed un, an now am uglih,” Nessa replied, trying to convey the situation to the best of her abilities while keeping her head buried in her lap.
“I didn’t catch a word of that. You’ll have to lift your head up so I can hear you better,” Tom explained. He quickly regretted this request as the once elegant elf now looked something akin to a fungus, an angry red fungus with blonde eyebrows. There were large swollen patches all over her face with little pin-prick holes in them. “What happened?” Tom asked in disgust and horror.
“Ol Lady Beaprice iv shiffing bokfef off beev.”
Old Lady Beatrice is shipping boxes of beef? That doesn’t sound so bad. Are you allergic to beef?” Tom attempted to comprehend the situation, but to no avail.
“Mot beef, beeeeeeeeeev,” Nessa attempted to enunciate.
“Bees?” Nessa bobbed her head up and down. Tom was dumbstruck. His jaw hung slack and he raised an eyebrow. In a tight-knit community like this one, what purpose could an old woman have for mailing boxes of bees to people? He then realized that he was staring and quickly tried to respond more clearly to her confirmation of this bizarre occurrence. “That’s horrible! I have to tell somebody.” He looked down at the swollen elf. “But first, let’s get you to a doctor.”
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