Most stories start off with a hook. Mine started off on one.
"Little shits like ye can't see a barnacle if ye had un growin outta yer hands." My father was a pirate.
"Grrr." And I was the little girl who growled at the said pirate.
"This is why I didn't wanna take ye on a voyage. Chapass."
It was a late summer day. The sweltering heat had me sweating but the snow hadn't melted yet. Ipspar was a bizarre town.
"What're ya yappin about? Ye'd die if it weren't fer me, ye crippled alcoholic bastard." I started flailing around. "And with ye kickin the bucket who woulda fed me? That shitty bitch ye married?" His hook had no grip and his hands no strength. I simply jumped off. "Use yer head."
He was a pirate by name and a cook by profession. I, on the other hand, was a bon-a-fide thief, a proper pirate. One that stole money from the rich to give to me. Don't get me wrong.
We tried everything to make an honest living.
But as it turned out you needed skills to make money, literacy to learn skills, and money to become literate. It was a lack of money that made my bitch of a mother leave, leaving the old man to a life of drinking, and a failed attempt that led to him losing his hand, so clearly money wasn't our duo's forte.
Anyway, piracy was available, though admittedly on a break after our ship almost got wrecked by a sea beast. We were on an extended stay at a little island called Ipspar, the religious capital of the world. A land of perpetual snow and heated summers. A paradise swimming on the sea.
"No one would hire ye, ye can't clean these barnacles, ye can't shoot a bullet, the only thing ye can do is stir food in a pot." I scrubbed until my arms started to hurt.
"…" He remained silent as I chewed him out for the past half an hour. My father was not a bad man. Unlike the others in the village, he never got violent, he wasn't a leach. He was a fine father who never got the opportunity to show off. But what he was, was annoying. Over the years I spent looking after him, all I got was nagging.
"Ye shoulda stayed back in town." He mumbled as he always did.
"Even if I had to sell meself like mother?"
"Shameful better than dead." This wasn't the first time he said that. We've had this same conversation multiple times. And multiple times we have come to the same conclusion.
"Y'are such a pathetic father."
"Piss off." He looked away, embarrassed.
"Am only doing this until I have money enough t'learn ta read." I put the mop down. "I wanna work here as little as the next person."
A brief moment of silence passed between us with the sound of seagulls polluting the crashing of waves.
"Tch." The man threw a small pouch at me. "Stay tonight on yer own. It's gonna get rowdy here since tis the last night on land. Be back by the next mornin. Early." He left back up the ship. "I gotta cook."
I put the money away in my pocket wanting to leave this life as soon as I could, "But one drink wouldn't hurt right?"
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That night I headed into town with a skip in my step. For some reason, I felt happy. After long grueling seafare, and then constant work on the ship, this felt like my one moment of rest.
I hurried down to a pub and ordered a mug of ale.
"What's a young lady like you doing ordering an ale?" The bartender asked. People die around forty here, a give or take pre-pubescent like me had already lived through a third of her life.
"Why ask questions? I have the money." I tossed two coins in his direction.
"Yeah Bart! Look at her clothes she fits right in. Give her a pint already." The waitress backed me up in the most offensive manner possible.
And so I got seated and comfortable on my stool with another group of three. It was a small pub after all.
"I think I'm gonna join the mercenaries." One of the men proclaimed. "I heard they are getting more in fashion since the war started."
"Why not just join the military then? We're the ones getting paid the best out of all of em. And they still need more than ever." There was a proud grin on his face as flicked the bell on his uniform.
What was he, a cow?
"Naw man just keep that to yourself. Mercenaries can at least run away. Deserting the military would get me the rope. Scary shit."
"Anddd I'd much rather pick my battles. Especially when our enemy is the literal Lord."
The mood suddenly halted to indifference.
"Coward." The bell jingling stopped as the man looked slightly dejected.
"Call me whatever you want but at this rate, I'd much rather be at your funeral than you at mine." The Mercenary wannabe chuckled.
"You might get your chance soon. No wait, you won't, cuz I'm strong." The soldier joined in on the laugh but his eyes weren't shining.
"Hm? What are you on about?"
"Tomorrow we are headed to Letchkia."
"Eh?" The other two looked at him in awe.
"Well, the actual way there will take like a week? So it's still a whi-"
"No- that's not what's surprising. I- I don't even know where to start." The two men got closer to that one soldier. "You just had a child. What about Gwan? You did like- plan around this right? Yeah?"
"What safeguards do I need when I know I will come back?"
"No yer right. Safeguards would've had to be made months ago, that's not an option right now."
"Let's run away, yeah? You can't leave a widow at her age."
"I am not gonna die."
"Right, the military provides for the families of men lost in battle."
"But I've heard stories of them not doing that."
"If push comes to shove we'll provide for the two of them. Yeah."
"You don't need to worry." The man in the uniform had a shit-eating grin on his face but his eyes looked dead.
"LISTEN TO YOURSELF GLUT!" One of them finally snapped. "We cannot defend our own land against those untouchable fucks! What makes you think you're going to survive on their land?! That too fucking Letchkia. NO ONE'S BEEN ABLE TO CROSS THAT DEAD LAND!! YOU'RE HEADED TO YOUR GRAVE TOMORROW AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN- you didn't even-"
"Stop. He knows this situation better than us. Let's run away? Tonight? Bring your child. I recently joined this group and they said they would protect the victims of the war."
"The military will find us."
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