Silk Harbor [1]

Music while reading: [summer seas and salty wind (piratecore)]

The ship glided toward Silk Harbor, an island divided into three distinct parts. The largest sector thrived as a bustling trade hub, followed by a smaller realm adorned with abodes and available chambers. To the left, a diminutive isle hummed with the lively tunes of taverns.

Rudimentary wooden bridges stitched them together, bearing the weight of countless steps over time. As nightfall held the world in its embrace, metal poles rose, bearing aloft a meter-high frame cradling a brilliant, flickering candle.

Amidst the quiet hours of 4:00 in the morning, the view before them revealed the harbor's frontal expanse, embracing stately trade ships. A sight meant for vessels of commerce, and one where their piratical craft dared not set its anchor.

"Mary, we'll be circlin' 'round back," the captain declared.

Cup in hand, wearied but resolute, Mary replied, "Aye aye, captain."

With a deft maneuver, he shifted the tiller, steering toward the island's rear, where they'd find their sanctuary beneath the indigo waves.

Securing their vessel with an anchor, they harbored no fears of theft. A watchful crew, always at the ready, offered their protective services for a modest fee. It proved a prudent investment, sparing them from the unsavory exploits of marauders who'd target anchored ships.

For pirates, there was an unwritten code: while the high seas were fair game, setting anchor on an isle was an act of vulnerability. Attacking in such circumstances was deemed craven, casting a shadow over a crew's reputation. Such a stain could linger, constraining their ambitions to mere piracy.

Yet, for some, the allure of plundering anchored ships proved too tempting to resist.

With a swift descent into the brine, Mary clutched her trusty blade, securely nestled within her leather belt. Her attire, a snug white shirt, bore the testament of their adventures in the form of stains, its hue a rich earthy brown. Her head remained unadorned.

Meanwhile, the captain sported a pair of billowing black breeches, characteristic of pirates, complemented by a flowing white shirt. His signature long coat, a deep brown with accents of vibrant yellow, draped his shoulders.

Atop his head, perched with pride, sat the emblematic tricorn hat—a proclamation of his rank. It set him apart, distinguishing him from the common pirates, a mark of his authority, even if his crew comprised only Mary.

With purpose, they anchored their ship, securing it in the depths of the azure abyss.

As they set foot on the sandy beach, he turned to Mary and inquired, "Tavern or sleep?"

Mary's response was swift, her choice clear, "Tavern, captain."

Chuckling heartily, he anticipated her preference. Even fatigued and yearning for rest, Mary would always opt for the lively embrace of a tavern, where the floor would serve as her bed.

Before them stood long wooden platforms, affixed with ladders leading upwards. Each platform housed chambers for rent, their prices etched onto wooden signs.

The arrangement was straightforward: Platform 0 offered the most basic lodging for those on a budget, Platform 1 presented more spacious and cleaner quarters, while Platform 2, perched high, offered a breathtaking view at a premium.

Residents of the island occupied dwellings just beyond the platforms, many of them doubling as proprietors of the rooms for rent. Their abodes, while separate, contributed to the thriving economy of Silk Harbor.

Spotting a group awaiting inquiries regarding ship protection, the captain approached them, entering into negotiations.

"Ahoy there," the captain greeted, "I be needin' me vessel guarded by tomorrow, two Nords, savvy?"

The leader of the group tried to barter, "It be three now, prices have set sail north."

With a wave, the captain signaled for Mary to join him, jokin', "Oi, Mary, show 'em the price be the same as before." He let out a hearty laugh.

Unfazed, the group scoffed, dismissing Mary's presence as inconsequential. Her eyes narrowed, a devious smile playing on her lips. Adopting a seductive guise, she circled them, their interest piqued.

Her attention was particularly captured by the stout, balding leader with a bronze complexion. He grinned, revealing a set of crooked teeth.

Locking eyes with the leader, her hand planted firmly on his chest, Mary quipped, "A pity ye lack a mane."

He chortled, stealing a glance at the captain, asking, "Might I have her?"

Mary's ire surged, channeling her Link power into her hands, electrifying them. The charge coursed through her touch, singeing the man's chest hair and shirt. An acrid scent hung in the air, reminiscent of burning plastic.

"HARHARHAR," the captain roared with laughter.

The group recoiled, their leader now writhing in pain. Shocked and disoriented, they couldn't fathom the source of the sudden conflagration.

"If me memory serves me right, ye offered to guard it for naught, didn't ye?" The captain leaned in towards the now subdued leader.

He scowled, grudgingly admitting, "Aye, then, it be so."

Acknowledging the outcome with a nod, the captain and Mary turned away, heading towards the platform area.

Jack's immediate aim was to secure lodgings. If they ventured straight to the tavern, Mary would likely drain both their purses, leaving them with naught but a hard wooden floor in the Captain's quarters to rest their weary heads.

In his weathered leather pouch, a mere eight Nord coins remained. A cup of spirits at the tavern came at half a Nord, a sum not to be taken lightly. The currency bore the likeness of reigning and bygone monarchs, ranging from 0.5 Nord coins to 10.

Opting to bypass the first platform, Mary interjected, "Aye, captain, this place don't seem fit for slumber. It reeks, and a bed's amiss."

Jack pivoted, his visage bathed in the flickering glow of a nearby candle, ensconced in its metal frame. "We're short on coin, lass," he confessed.

"Aye, but worry not, captain," Mary countered, her grin sly and her tone laced with promise.

"A solution for our coffers may be in the offing. I'll apprise ye when we secure a room from the first platform."

His scrutinizing gaze locked onto her. "Ye'd best not be spinning tales, lass," he warned.

"Nay, captain," she replied, her grin undaunted. "If it proves false, you're welcome to... well, enjoy yourself."

Jack erupted in hearty laughter. "If ye be so certain, let's press on."

Ascending the wooden ladder to the first platform, Jack procured a room—12 hours' respite for three Nords.

The platform beneath their feet groaned in protest with each step, the muted sounds of merriment and more private affairs drifting from adjacent chambers. As they neared the terminus, they descended and ventured further into the residential expanse.

Here, structures stood with wooden roofs, some rising two stories high, while the platforms bore no such shelter, merely a straight wooden plank guarding against the rain.

Not a soul stirred at this early hour, the houses cloaked in darkness, their inhabitants yet to rouse from their slumber.

Close to their abodes, barrels lay open, collecting rainwater, the lifeblood of the isle.

The terrain was unmarred by wood, but trodden earth, tinged with a touch of mud, marred the pristine condition of their high leather boots.

Ascending the wooden stairs, they arrived at a platform linked by a rudimentary bridge to the foremost isle.