(from the desk of your EM on LS: A Bio)
Whiskey makes strange Bed Fellows
The weather was getting rough, “Batten that hold! Secure the ale!” Jonas Grumby was shouting now, to be heard over the howling winds.
He was back on his old ship, the Sea Hag. He wasn’t quite sure how, he thought he remembered her being destroyed during the long siege of Magincia. Jonas used her to sneak valuables, and occasionally people if they paid well, out of the town. A nice wealth was accumulated, but all was lost when the ship went down. The old mariner hadn’t much time to contemplate this, however. These waves and winds were threatening to take him and his men down.
“Unfurl that sail! Bare pole, gents!” He yelled to one of his comrades, staring at the man bewilderingly for a moment He couldn’t make out his men’s faces, they seemed to have a constant haze about them.
They were windward of the shore, now, a preferable position to be in. The fetch would be reduced, the waves should be smaller. Nevertheless, he wasn’t quite sure what shore it was.
One of the unrecognizable faces was yelling at him now, “Skipper! She’s broaching!”
Jonas was angry now, “Drop the drogue or your doom be at hand, ye lice-infested lubber!” His men would normally act, not point out the obvious. “Tiller! Breaking wave!”
The man at the tiller skillfully managed Sea Hag, no longer with a sail on it’s mast, directly into the wave. A man of experience with large breakers, he angled her down perfectly to avoid crashing headlong into the next one.
“Is that all ye got, storm!?” Jonas was jamming his fist into the air now and laughing, “Har, har, har! Ya wont be taking me beauty down!”
A wave crashed over the bow, spraying Jonas Grumby in the face. It had a peculiar scent and taste to it. He stopped his maniacal laughter, and stood aloof. Another wave splashed, again striking him in the face. Now he was sure he had lost his mind. Jonas knew that glorious scent well. Ale.
His eyes opened, and he was laying on his back in a dark and musky room.
“Hit him again,” a strange voice said. A third splash of the dark drink bounced off his brow.
Jonas quickly jumped to his feet, alarmed, “Grog-snarfing sea dog!” He formed his hands into fists, wobbling a bit, trying to get a clear picture of the men in front of him.
“Easy, Grumby,” a man with a bottle in his hand grinned. He was wearing a sort of green, light armor, no doubt the better for blending into a forested background.
“Har! Mr. Murphy! What brings you to-” Jonas cut himself off as he wasn’t quite aware of where he was, “err, here.”
Marcus Murphy, scout for the Royal Guard, smiled, “I stopped by The Salty Dog, here, for a drink,” Marcus held up the nearly empty bottle and motioned to the man next to him, “The good barkeep was complaining about a dastardly stench coming up from the cellar. Naturally, I thought of you.”
“The Salty Dog,” Jonas Grumby seemed to think upon this for a moment, “I am in Britain?”
The barkeep let out a derisive snort, shaking his head, “Just get this bum out of here for me, will you?” At that he turned, and went back up the steps to tend his business. Jonas glared at the barkeeps back, before focusing his attention on the bottle in Marcus’ hand.
Marcus knew what Jonas was thinking, “I thought you’d be more appreciative than if I had used cold water.” Jonas said nothing, instead walking over to Marcus to relieve him of his bottle, swigging what was left of the ale.
Wiping his mouth and letting out an exasperated breath, Jonas looked Marcus in the eye, “So what it be you want me to do for you, Mr. Murphy?”
“Why is it you think I want something of you?” Marcus chuckled.
Jonas reached out a finger, curiously stroking the scouting armor Marcus donned, but said nothing.
Marcus sighed, “Information.”
“Eh?” Jonas was still feigning disinterest.
Marcus held up a pair of gloved fingers, “First, there are rumors of piracy off the coast of Minoc. I need to know everything about it.” Marcus again let show a toothy grin.
“What be makin’ you think I’d know anythin’ about piracy?” Jonas practically spat the word, tossing the empty ale bottle to the side.
Marcus only laughed, “Come now.”
“The second?”
His laughter ceasing, Marcus’ face took on a grim feature, “There is something queer about, with this Royal Decree. Do what you do best, talk. Keep those ears open. We need to know the murmurings of the people.”