The exclamation from the crow's nest snapped Marcellus back to reality. He stared out at the horizon where the silhouette of an island was emerging from the sea mist. Peaks and spires clawed at the sky, reminiscent of a giant's outstretched fingers—either bidding them welcome or warning them away. Mythralis. The name conjured stories of pirates, rebels, and seekers of every forbidden pleasure one could imagine.
As the ship closed the distance, the atmosphere among the crew shifted palpably. Earlier tensions vanished, replaced by a simmering anticipation. Eyes glistened, faces broke into grins, and men whispered excitedly among themselves.
More than one of the crew members' conversations revolved around the women they intended to visit—Mythralis was known for offering every imaginable vice.
With a shuddering halt that reverberated through its timbers, the ship finally docked.
The gangplank was thrown onto the wharf with a heavy thud. Marcellus felt a quiver of excitement cascade down his spine as his boots touched the soil of Mythralis for the second time.
He had barely scraped the surface of the city's offerings during his prior visit, although he had tasted some of its more sensual delights.
Captain Crowe was the next to disembark.
He stepped onto the wharf gracefully, his eyes sweeping over the bustling port as if cataloguing the sights of a cherished, familiar landscape.
"Welcome back to Mythralis, Blackeye," he announced. "Here, you'll find life in its purest form—unshackled by laws, unsanitized by morality. A world that would seduce even the most steadfast saint into sin."
A tingle of both allure and dread coursed through Marcellus.
While Mythralis was an enigmatic sanctuary where every man could be a king, it was also a place that fanned the flames of his unease.
Captain Crowe's various forms of leverage still loomed large, invisible shackles that seemed to tighten just a bit more with each step he took.
Marcellus couldn't help but wonder who would come for me if they were coming at all. And when?
His sole comfort was the knowledge that his true strength remained a secret, unknown even to Crowe and the crew.
They were bound to underestimate him!
As most of the crew scattered into the city, heading for taverns, brothels, or the arms of loved ones, a few remained behind.
Tommy Bone, Master Dobbs, Hawkin, and a handful of others began the process of unloading the loot they had acquired.
While the spoils hadn't yet been divided, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that handing it over to Crowe's mysterious employer was the most reasonable course of action. Why that was, Marcellus couldn't fathom.
"Blackeye, stay behind. Help with the unloading," Crowe commanded, though Marcellus suspected there was an ulterior motive. He was, after all, the man who had killed a Wereshark.
As they began moving crates down the gangplank, a crowd of onlookers started to gather.
However, they were promptly dispersed by Randy and Noah, the ship's enforcers, who maintained a watchful eye over the proceedings.
Once the last of the cargo had been unloaded and loaded into a carriage, Captain Crowe led Marcellus through labyrinthine streets thrumming with life.
They passed bustling bazaars where traders peddled both everyday wares and 'mystical' artefacts, weaving through throngs of revellers and beggars, humans and non-humans alike. Finally, they arrived at an imposing building adorned with pirate insignias and symbols—the headquarters of Crowe's operation in Mythralis.
Marcellus suspected.
"As you can see, Blackeye," Crowe began as he pushed open the grand doors, then halted and turned back with a sly grin.
"Ah, I see your gears turning. No, no, this isn't my lair. We're here to request an escort for a mission critical to my employer. A mission that requires additional manpower."
Marcellus looked puzzled. "If they're already employed by your employer, why would we need an escort? Aren't we all on the same side?"
Crowe's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Ah, being on the same payroll doesn't mean we're sailing the same seas, lad. Different departments, different objectives, sometimes even conflicting ones. But today, our paths align."
At this point, a tall woman, clad in ornate armour that suggested she was not someone to trifle with, approached them. Her eyes measured Marcellus briefly before she offered a nod to Captain Crowe.
"Captain Crowe, never a pleasure. You require an escort, I assume?" She spoke with a voice that commanded attention.
"Indeed," Captain Crowe acknowledged.
she surveyed the men and the goods, her gaze lingering on Marcellus a little too long.
Captain Crowe notices this.
"Meet Blackeye he is someone who can ensure the mission's success."
Marcellus felt a sudden weight of responsibility thrust upon him.
It was clear that he was being vetted, and examined for some greater role. As his mind assessed the situation, he couldn't ignore the nagging suspicion that this was another layer of leverage, another thread woven into the fabric of his increasingly complicated relationship with Crowe.
"Very well," the woman said after a prolonged silence. "My men will accompany you. What's the cargo?"
Crowe leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That is not for you to know, only to protect. But rest assured, it's valuable."
The woman didn't question further; she simply gestured for four heavily armed guards to join them. "These men will ensure that you get to the estate safely."
Marcellus felt a blend of relief and tension as they took their leave.
Relief because their mysterious mission seemed to be in capable hands, and tension because every step seemed to be another step away from a life he could claim as his own.
Freedom, he beginning to feel less free even though he should be an icon for freedom.
Crowe had just finessed another layer of complexity onto him, and now even these strangers—servants of the same elusive employer—had a role in the unfolding drama of his life.
As they exited the grand building, Marcellus' eyes caught the dark corners and hidden alleys of Mythralis.
A woman was getting beaten up by six or seven men.