"Alright, Ort, here's the plan," said Jack, his voice steady yet brimming with anticipation. "But first, let's drink!"
"At last!" Mary cheered, raising her hand to summon the tavern keeper.
"Ort, ye payin'?" Jack jested, giving Ort a playful shove.
"Ye scallywags be makin' me broke!" Ort laughed heartily. "Aye, I'll pay."
And so, the Howling Protectors, along with Captain Jack and Mary, raised their mugs in a solemn toast—partly to honor the fallen and partly to loosen up before the looming battle.
After several rounds, Erl approached Ort. "Time to leave, Ort."
Ort, swaying on unsteady feet, grasped Erl's shoulders. "Tomorrow, mate, we be takin' down that beast. And these fine lads and lasses here—they'll be our heroes," he said with a tipsy wink.
Erl's eyes widened, but he quickly regained his composure. "Ye're too drunk, spoutin' nonsense. Ye won't even remember this come mornin'."
"I'm serious, Erl."
Seeing Ort's determination, Erl relented. "Alright, stay as long as ye want. Drinks on the house!" He announced, causing a cheer to erupt from the group.
Jack took this opportunity to lay out the plan, speaking slowly and clearly so the less inebriated members could recount it the next day.
"Captain, ye be a bloody genius. Tomorrow, ye're not just a captain, ye're a... Commander Captain Jack Thunder!" Mary declared with an adorable slur in her voice.
"Ah, Mary, ye flatter me," Jack replied, half-embarrassed but smiling at her genuine admiration.
The tavern, perched high with mist settling below and fireflies flickering in the night, felt almost magical. The camaraderie and laughter echoed in the air, a stark contrast to the grim determination that lay beneath their jovial facade. The Howling Protectors knew that come dawn, their battle would begin—not just against the beast, but for the very soul of their comrades and the hope of their people.
...
The Next Morning.
The village awoke to Ort's rallying cry, echoing through the early dawn. This was no ordinary day—an unprecedented attack was about to unfold, with a plan meticulously crafted to outdo any previous efforts.
Ort divided his Howling Protectors into groups, each leading clusters of civilians. Their mission was to gather Wolfor flowers scattered across the forest floor, a task they approached with grim determination. These flowers, crucial to their strategy, were to be placed in a circular formation at three key points, creating a protective barrier.
With this task underway, Jack and Mary headed to the blacksmith's shop, the heart of the village's weapon-making efforts.
The shop was ingeniously carved into the trunk of an enormous tree. Its entrance, a grand arched opening framed by verdant branches, welcomed them into a space that was both expansive and cluttered. The floor was littered with metal scraps, and the high ceiling soared above, while polished walls bore the marks of countless projects.
A staircase on the right, with a railing carved from the tree itself, led down to the workshop. On the left, a large forge dominated the space, its chimney ingeniously funneled smoke through the tree without harming it. Anvils of various sizes stood ready, their surfaces worn smooth from years of use. Workbenches lined the walls, crowded with tools and materials, while shelves overflowed with ingots and handles.
At the center, a sturdy wooden table displayed finished weapons. Around this table sat Jack, Mary, and the blacksmith.
Tor, the blacksmith, was an imposing figure with broad shoulders and muscular arms, his skin bronzed by years of exposure to the forge's heat. His rugged face was framed by a thick, patchy beard, and his bald head gleamed in the forge's light. He wore practical, durable clothing: a simple linen shirt beneath a leather apron, sturdy trousers, and knee-high boots.
Straightening his back, Tor addressed them with a confident tone. "What do ye want, travelers?"
Jack scratched the back of his head. "We be needin' a cannon harpoon and dozen spears."
"Hmm. Very well. But ye lot'll have to help make 'em," Tor replied.
"Oi, why do we gotta help?" Mary asked, her voice tinged with frustration.
"If ye don't, it'll take about eight days. With yer help, workin' day and night, we might get it done in three," Tor explained.
"Three days?! We planned to use it tonight against, ye know..." Jack protested.
"It be the best I can do. 'Twould take even longer without them old cannons," Tor said, salvaged from a pirate ship what burned down a hundred years ago.
"Alright, we'll help," Jack conceded.
After informing Ort of the change in plans, Jack and Mary joined Tor and the craftsmen in the arduous task of creating the harpoon.
They began with a detailed discussion of the cannon harpoon's specifications and objectives. The craftsman sketched a blueprint on a piece of yellowed parchment, with the blacksmith offering guidance. At this stage, Jack and Mary were mere sitting ducks.
Once the blueprint was finalized, Jack and Mary scoured the shop for the necessary materials, excluding the cannon. They then crossed a nearby bridge to a storage tree room, retrieved two cannons on wheels, and brought them back to the shop.
"Arr, here they be," Tor grumbled, eyeing the group as they gathered in the makeshift workshop nestled deep within the heart of the island.
"By the way, we ain't got much gunpowder 'ere, but it'll do," Tor continued, his tone matter-of-fact.
"If it ain't enough, we can always go back to the ship..." Jack suggested.
"Nah, no need. Going there's the riskiest thing ye could do," Lor, the craftsman, interjected firmly.
"Why's that?" Mary and Jack asked in unison, curiosity piqued.
Tor jumped in to explain, "Well, the Wolfor flowers don't grow as much near the ship as they do 'ere in the heart o' the island. The Beast can roam those parts freely."
"Ye were lucky to make it here. If the Beast caught ye there, ye'd be done for," Lor added grimly.
"Aye, I see," Jack acknowledged with a nod.
"Tor, I'm goin' down to make the sabot. If ye need any help, give a shout," Lor announced, heading towards his task.
"Aye," Tor replied.
Lor descended to fashion the sabot, leaving Mary curious. "What's a sabot?" she inquired.
"It be a cylinder that'll hold th' harpoon in place inside the cannon and absorb the shock," Tor explained patiently.
Tor moved deliberately to his workspace, retrieving ingots needed to reinforce the cannon's barrel with additional metal bands.
"Oi, Jack, lend a hand, will ye?" Tor called out, motioning towards the heavy materials.
"As for ye, Mary, be ye certain ye can brew that poison right? I'd call fer help if anyone on this damn island knew botany, but they don't," Tor continued.
Mary's eyes widened, a haunting smile crossing her face. "I be not. But we can always go wolf huntin' to test it out during these days o' making this," she suggested confidently.
Tor sighed, taken aback by her audacity. He didn't expect her to be so willing to venture into the unknown, especially with her lack of botanical knowledge.
Mary moved to a corner of the shop, settling into a wooden chair near a table where her bag of Wolfor flowers awaited.
"Arrright, let's go..." she muttered, emptying the bag and carefully arranging the flowers before her.
On the other side of the workshop, Tor gripped an ingot and placed it into the roaring fireplace to heat. Leaning closer to Jack, he whispered, "Ye bed her yet? Seems ye two get along right well."
Jack burst into laughter, catching Mary's gaze before she returned to contemplating the flowers.
"She be an untouchable angel, mate," Jack whispered back.
"Aye, so ye fancy her then..." Tor smirked, subtly swaying.
Caught in Mary's determined stare, Jack momentarily lost track of the conversation.
She scrutinized each flower, her frustration evident as she slouched over the table, experimenting and pondering.
'She looks right cute givin' it her all,' Jack mused to himself.
Their eyes locked briefly, an unspoken understanding passing between them until Tor slapped Jack on the back.
"Oi, mate, ye driftin' away there. Th' iron's ready. Come, I'll show ye how to swing a hammer proper," Tor offered.
Jack nodded, eager to learn more from the blacksmith, knowing every skill gained made him stronger, for the crew's sake and his own.
...