As the pair passed the rows of crude fishing vessels lazily bobbing in their moorings, a general clamor could be heard toward the far end of the pier. A large masthead came into view, along with several moving bodies that scrambled along in response to a single booming voice that beat down the chatter of all the rest. Thorian seemed to hustle even faster as the bulk of the longship came into full view, straining his muscles to hold his freight.
To whom the voice belonged was a grizzled and stout Dwarf that Killian spotted only as he took notice of their approach. Immediately, the stranger fixed Thorian with a glare as the boy tried his hardest not to stumble over his own feet.
"Jacktrade you laggard! I ask you for the barest means to make tack, an' you can't even go the hour without sightseein'...and managin' to douse yourself with half the damned lot! That flour'll be out of your wages, boy!" The Dwarf roughly shoved Thorian over the handrail as he attempted to clamber over, nearly sending him sprawling upon the deck, before setting his sights on Killian. "This ain't some light-forsaken cruise ship, we ain't takin' tourists." He sneered.
However, Killian's focus was upon the vessel itself. Before him was tethered a Dwarven longship, clearly crafted not by one unskilled at the trade, though simple by Mid-Islander standards. Its pine exterior had been hard worn by the merciless batterings of the sea, and had become a stormy gray color as a result. Dwarven sailors, along with only a handful of humans such as Thorian, busied themselves like a colony of ants aboard the topdeck and around the wide trunk of the mast that towered high into the air. A carved raven, painted a chipping and faded black with its wings outstretched, served as an ominous figurehead.
"Apologies, Durgan." Thorian gasped as he exerted himself passing bags of cargo in a chain of men to the hold. "I ran into him on my return - he's my Uncle Killian of Cantelcross. He's looking to head northwest, same as us."
Durgan squinted up and down as Killian stopped just before him. "As it were said, I ain't takin' no tourists." He reaffirmed.
"I'm seeking passage to a small island not a week's journey from here, to a small port - Grimstone Outpost." Killian said with his eyes still scrutinizing the ship, ignoring the remark.
Durgan barked a harsh sort of laugh. "Aye I know Grimstone, lad. But what makes ye think I'll take on another body an mouth twice the size a my men?"
Killian shifted impatiently, once again weighing his options and only now turning to match the Dwarf's gaze. "My father commanded a trading company and himself captained a trade vessel."
Killian met the Dwarf's eyes just in time to catch him sneering. "What yer father did ain't worth a knocker's knickers far as I'm concerned - what is it you can do fer me? Your nephew there has proven 'bout as useful as a glass hammer." He said, as the pair watched Thorian straining to carry a sack of grain belowdecks.
"I can regale you and your crew with harmonious melodies, and the epic tale of the Dwarf who so kindly allowed such a noble entertainer aboard his raft." Though smiling, Killian lathered his words in icy sarcasm that seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Durgan hawked and spat off the pier.
"Bards, lazy louts the lot of em." He said, shaking his head. "More likely to don a bib 'fore an apron in my experience. I'm thinkin' I'll pass, lest ya got any coin?" He eyed Killian up and down with a charlatan's smile.
Killian gritted his teeth but said nothing. It was not like he had not expected to pay for passage anyhow. Reaching behind to the case of his lute, he groped for the coinpurse he had fastened to it the night before.
His fist closed around thin air.
Confusion turned to panic as he felt behind his back, finally tearing off the case and looking it over only to find the remaining tethered knots of string, hanging neatly where the pouch had been severed. He felt the anger rise in his throat.
"Tough luck eh? Too many scalics spent catting about the brothels?" Prodded Durgan.
Killian thought back to the night he spent with Abigail, faintly recalling the emptiness of the bed upon his waking.
"Something akin to that." He hissed venomously, working out in his mind how he could have been robbed.
"Aw don't take it so hard, lad." Durgan cooed, mockingly patting Killian's shoulder as he knelt over the instrument's case. "Plenty a folk to winter it out with you here in Flotsam."
Killian watched numbly as the Dwarf clambered up the gangplank onto the longship and trod off to a doorway to the aft. Thorian had disappeared below decks and was no longer in sight. Slowly rising to his feet, Killian found himself giving way to despair as he turned back towards Flotsam town just as a youthful, fire-bearded Dwarf hailed Durgan to give a report.
Killian was nearly out of earshot when Durgan called out to him.
"Hold 'er easy there, Killian was it? Seems like Lady Luck is on your side."
Killian turned and looked a question at the now strangely more amicable Dwarf, who leaned over the handrail and beckoned him back with a wave of his hand.
"It seems as if, unbeknownst to me, some space has opened up if yer interested…down amongst the livestock." Durgan smiled a wicked grin that revealed a single tooth of glimmering gold sitting amongst a sea of others blackened by tar.
Killian took a step back towards the ship. Something seemed…off, about the way he had said that word, but Killian needed to be gone from Flotsam within the next few days, and didn't know how many more chances would present themselves.
"'Course, the offer ain't free, you'll have to put in some work yerself - nothing yer halfwit nephew can't handle himself from time to time." Durgan carried on. "Both your arms work?"
Killian nodded in response, but was still piecing together a puzzle in his head. "I believed Dvargkall to import most of its animals through Mid-Island ships. What kind of livestock do you carry?"
Durgan's eyes glimmered as he weighed the question for a moment. "Swine." He said at last, with a smile that suggested a joke that only he was privy to. "Ain't scared of pigs, are ye?" He queried.
Just then, there was movement in the fore as two men clambered up a narrow stairwell. Killian recognized the second man as Thorian, who, for some reason, refused to meet his gaze. Between them was a misshapen, long bundle, wrapped in burlap and bound at either end. Gently, the pair set the bundle down against the gunwale. Durgan followed Killian's gaze.
"Best not ta be rude and refuse, one o' my stock went an' keeled over so as you could have a seat."
Killian turned white as a sail as the puzzle began to form a clear image before him.
Slavers
He hadn't said it, but Durgan smiled broadly as if he had. It was clear that the Dwarf was having a great deal of fun in the ploy.
"You've come from Shiastro Isle, then." Is what Killian said instead. It was not a question.
Durgan shrugged. "Ore's got ta be mined somehow. My people do a good enough job when it's just for ourselves, but the demand is high. Jarl signed off to trade the raw stuff to Animaeris and there's no end to their needs. Copper, zinc, nickel, and tin - we been sendin' em off as quick as we can pick. Toss them piggies in the mine and they make fast work of it."
The Dracticos Isles were renowned throughout Junia as "a land of fair folk and fair trade". That was the saying amongst the seasoned sailors that frequented the Isles. It was convenient for them to ignore the blight that plagued the islands.
That blight was Shiastro Isle.
Ironically the largest out of all the islands that encompassed the Dracticos Isles, Shiastro Isle was one that the fewest Mid-Islanders actually inhabited. Before its rise to infamy, the human Mid-Islanders had been in near constant battle over the island with the dangerous beast-men that inhabited the Chahkalzir Boglands west of its shores, and with the threat of piracy always lurking from Padasiras to the near south, Shiastro Isle had hardly been settled by any one party. That was how it had been, at least until just under a century ago when the Regganorian army had pushed the last of the Orcs out of their homeland and obliterated the nation of Gretok. Regganorians had settled the land (which is now encompassed by present-day Animaeris), and passed the exiled Orcs into slavery in the Dracticos Isles. Now, Shiastro Isle stood as a floating slave camp where Orcs were raised and sold to any of the nations that participated in the trade, of which Dvargkall as of late was the largest financier.
Killian was dumbfounded. He felt the dizziness and nausea take hold of him once more, though it was worse than that morning and he was no longer hungover. He looked back towards the town, and Durgan sensed his apprehension.
"Lost yer nerve, eh lad? Suit yerself, I pray to the Goddesses another ship comes this way."
Killian bit his lip and swore under his breath. The trade, though common in his homeland, was never a line of work his family had grown accustomed to. Though it was more than just that which made him uncertain.
"You don't earnestly expect me to bed alongside creatures that could tear my head from my shoulders in a single motion?" He rebuked. Durgan cackled louder than ever.
"Not to worry my skaldic fellow, they're bound in irons, wrist and ankle - a service we won't provide to yerself a 'course, not somethin' I offer till at least the second date." The Dwarven Captain snorted at his own joke. "Less you think ya can find more suitable arrangements 'ere in Flotsam without a copper to yer name."
Killian had been torn on whether to accept the offer, but that final, biting comment was too much to bear the thought of becoming reality. He none-too-eagerly stalked over to the gangplank.
Durgan beamed at him. "A wise choice indeed, Mister Killian. Welcome aboard the Korvinsfald."
Killian only spared a single look beneath the gangplank to the icy waters below. Taking a shaky breath, he stepped aboard the longship.