Just as Ort and his crew, along with Jack and Mary, stepped into the lively tavern, the patrons abruptly fell silent. The music ceased, and all eyes turned towards the two unfamiliar figures, their gazes filled with fear and suspicion.
"Fear not, good folk. These two be travelers who have recently graced our island," Ort reassured, attempting to quell their unease.
The onlookers gave him a strange glance before hastily gathering their belongings, settling their tabs, and escaping through the backdoor.
Jack couldn't help but feel puzzled. "What be the meaning of this? Why did they scatter like a bunch of scared birds?" he inquired.
Ort brushed off the question with a dismissive wave. "Pay them no mind. They be merely wary of strangers," he replied, attempting to divert Jack's attention.
Yet, the more Jack and Mary observed their surroundings, the more everything seemed shrouded in suspicion. Despite their lack of knowledge, they understood that their only choice was to follow Ort and bide their time until nightfall when they could commence their excavation.
Ort's crew hastily rearranged three tables, bringing forth an array of wooden chairs, inviting Jack and Mary to join them.
"What be the specialties of this fine establishment?" Mary inquired.
Ort raised his arm, summoning Erl, both the waiter and the owner of the tavern. Erl appeared, clad in a worn-out brown robe with patched holes, his silvery-white hair framing an oval-shaped face adorned with a scruffy white goatee.
"I'm afraid I must ask you to leave, Ort. I apologize," Erl spoke with concern etched upon his face, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and hairy forearms.
Ort rose from his seat, uttering a few words to Erl before resuming his place at the table.
"Very well then, what be yer orders?" Erl asked, his voice tinged with weariness.
Jack's mind raced with suspicion. "These folk grow more mysterious by the moment. Could it be that their friendly facade be naught but a ruse, concealing ulterior motives of thievery or even murder? Perhaps they seek to commandeer our ship," he pondered.
Undeterred, Jack and Mary decided to order the same drink Ort and his group ordered, an island's specialty, rak'vana—a concoction crafted from fermented herbs, flowers, and plums.
Curiosity piqued, they joined Ort and his crew in their choice of libation.
"Ah, pray tell, what be the name of this fine island? I wish to record it in me log," Jack inquired.
"It be known as Howling Treetop," Art replied.
"Howling, ye say? But I hear no mighty gusts upon the air," Jack remarked.
"'Tis merely a name bestowed by the island's founders, naught but a whimsical title," Ret chimed in—a slender man with delicate features, devoid of facial hair, and a countenance that leaned towards femininity. He appeared as though he had lived a solitary life, surviving on meager sustenance.
The drinks arrived, each placed on the wooden tables before the patrons. The beverage was served in small, finger-sized wooden cups.
Raising his cup, Ort proclaimed, "Let us be shielded from the darkness that haunts this world. May we thrive and grow, each becoming a man of strength and resilience. This be a toast to the Howling Protectors, not the first, and hopefully not the last."
As Ort spoke, each member of his crew bowed their heads, eyes closed in reverence. To show respect for their customs, Jack and Mary followed suit, mirroring their actions.
Once the toast concluded, they all raised their heads and downed the drink in one swift motion.
To Mary's surprise, a fit of coughing overcame her, her eyes reddening from the burn that seared her mouth and throat.
"What be this devil's brew?" Mary exclaimed, her voice raspy from the fiery sensation.
Ort chuckled, finding amusement in Mary's reaction. He proceeded to explain the origins and name of the drink. "This, me dear, be a brew known as rak'vana. It packs a punch stronger than any libation ye may have encountered in yer travels..."
Jack, feeling the effects of the potent concoction, nodded in agreement. "Aye, me senses be tinglin' with its strength."
Mary's mind suddenly shifted to another concern. "Blast! What fate awaits me precious barrel of rum on this forsaken island? I hope naught befalls me beloved spirits."
...
After a couple of hours spent drinking and regaling tales of their adventures on various islands, night had descended upon them. Erl, the tavern owner, approached their table with a weary smile, announcing, "Ort, it be closing time."
Ort swiftly rose from his seat, motioning for his comrades to follow him to a corner of the tavern where wooden buckets filled with fresh water were lined up. In unison, they splashed the cold water on their faces, arms, and necks, refreshing themselves for the tasks ahead.
Approaching Jack and Mary, Ort proposed, "It be dangerous at night. Why don't ye two stay at me tree house? I live alone, anyway."
"Aye, that'd be a good plan," Jack answered, his mind scheming, knowing that everything played right into their hands.
Leaving the tavern, the group dispersed, while Ort led the way to his treehouse, a mere three-minute walk away.
Along the path, Mary couldn't help but notice that each house they passed had a wooden bucket adorned with the same pink-white flowers placed in front of their doors. These were the very flowers that had been thrown at them by the men earlier.
Embracing her feminine wiles, Mary plucked a single flower from a random bucket and lightly tapped Ort on the shoulder. "This be a beautiful flower. What be its name?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued.
Ort's eyes widened as he turned to face her. "Where did ye find that?" he asked, concern etched on his face.
Mary pointed towards a nearby treehouse, indicating its origin.
Snatching the flower from her hand, Ort chided gently, "Stealin' people's flowers be not right. I'll be returnin' it." He carefully placed the flower back into its original spot.
Returning to their path, he answered Mary's question, "Its name be Wolfor."
"Arr, never heard o' that before," Jack chimed in, sharin' Mary's curiosity.
Arriving at Ort's treehouse, he unlocked the door and lit a candle inside, illuminating the space. The interior was more magnificent than the others, with a circular layout and thick wooden walls that retained warmth or coolness.
To the right, there was a stone area with ashes and various branches, some partially burnt, serving as a fireplace. Ort pointed it out, saying, "If ye be wantin' to cook, ye can open this drawer here and prepare a meal fer yerselves."
He then gestured to a spot on the floor away from the fireplace, where two straw-filled cushions and pillows lay. "This be where I sleep. Unfortunately, there be only one extra beddin'. Ye can move it here," he offered.
Suddenly, the sound of the bell rang out once again, amplified a hundredfold, piercing through the dense forest and echoing in the air. Ort's posture tensed, his shoulders rising as he warned them, "I be needin' to go to work. Whatever ye do, don't ye dare venture outside."
Curiosity getting the better of Jack, he inquired, "Why be that matey?"
"There be a pack o' wolves in the forest, 'bout 50 of 'em. It be treacherous to venture outside. That be why we be livin' in the trees," Ort explained, unraveling a part of the mystery before hastily departing, leaving Jack and Mary to ponder the secrets that lingered in the shadows of the night.