[20] The Drunken Kraken

As the caravan came to a halt, the driver gestured towards a large, rugged building with a sign swinging above the door that read "The Drunken Kraken." Stepping down from the caravan, Elara and I approached the tavern, the sound of raucous laughter and clinking glasses spilling out into the street.

The tavern's exterior was weathered, with wooden planks darkened by time and the elements. The sign of the Kraken was crudely painted, its tentacles winding around the name. The doorway was framed by barrels and crates, giving it a distinctly makeshift and unpolished look.

Pushing open the heavy door, we were immediately engulfed in the boisterous atmosphere of a typical pirate pub. The air was thick with the smell of cheap alcohol, tobacco, and the salty tang of sweat. Dimly lit by lanterns hanging from the rafters, the interior was a maelstrom of activity.

The main room was crowded with pirates and seafarers, a motley assortment of characters. Some were engaged in loud, drunken conversations, while others played cards at battered wooden tables, their expressions a mix of cunning and drunken focus. A group of pirates sang a bawdy shanty in the corner, their voices raucous and off-key.

The bar itself was a long, scarred piece of wood, manned by a burly bartender who moved with surprising efficiency, filling mugs and taking coins. Shelves behind him were lined with bottles of various shapes and sizes, some with labels faded beyond recognition.

The walls were adorned with nautical paraphernalia – fishing nets, old maps, rusted cutlasses, and the occasional trophy, like shark jaws or a weather-beaten captain's hat. The floor was sticky underfoot, a testament to many nights of spilled drinks and rowdy brawls.

In this den of pirates and sea rogues, the air of danger was as palpable as the smell of rum. Every patron seemed to have a story, their faces marked by the harsh life of the sea – weathered, scarred, and cunning.

Elara and I had barely settled into a corner of the tavern when a group of burly, rough-looking men approached us, their intentions clear from their leering smiles and swaggering gait. The stench of alcohol on their breath was almost as strong as their apparent disregard for personal boundaries.

"Hey there, lass," slurred the apparent leader of the group, a burly man with a tangled beard and a leer that made my skin crawl. "A pretty thing like you shouldn't be sitting all lonely in a place like this. Let us keep you company."

Elara's expression remained cool and detached, a stark contrast to the men's intrusive demeanor. "I'm not your 'lass', and I'm not lonely. I suggest you keep walking."

The man, undeterred and obviously not used to being denied, reached out to grab Elara's arm. Without missing a beat, she shifted her position, using the butt of her spear to deliver a swift, precise strike to the man's wrist, causing him to recoil with a pained curse.

"Fk, woman! You've got a temper," he growled, nursing his wrist.

Elara stood up, her presence commanding despite the rowdy background of the tavern. "And you've got a problem understanding 'no'. I won't warn you again. Back off."

The man's companions, a mix of amusement and surprise on their faces, hesitated. One of them, a tall fellow with a scar running down his cheek, chuckled. "Looks like you picked the wrong one to mess with, Garth."

Garth, still grimacing, glared at Elara. "You're going to regret that, bitch."

I stood up, positioning myself beside Elara, ready to back her up. The tension was palpable, the tavern's usual cacophony dimming as patrons turned to watch the unfolding confrontation.

Elara's voice cut through the tension, calm but laced with a dangerous edge. "I doubt that. Now, I'm only going to say this once more – leave us alone. Or the next blow won't be to your wrist."

The group, now clearly assessing the situation, seemed to reconsider. The man with the scar spoke up, a note of caution in his voice. "Come on, Garth. She's not worth the trouble. Let's find our fun elsewhere."

Garth, shooting a final venomous look at Elara, reluctantly backed off, his group following suit. The tavern slowly returned to its usual noisy rhythm, the patrons losing interest in the confrontation.

As we sat back down, Elara let out a slow breath, her composure unshaken. "Fking pirates. They think they can do whatever they want."

I nodded, impressed by her handling of the situation. "You handled that well. Made a statement without turning it into a full-blown brawl."

Elara smirked, though her eyes remained watchful. "In places like this, you have to. Show weakness, and they'll eat you alive. We need to stay sharp, Wang. Portus Corsair isn't going to be easy."

"Yeah, I didn't sign up for an adventure for it to easy now." I smirked.

Just then both of our stomachs grumbled in protest.

"Well, looks like its chow time." I said.

We both opened our menu, then saw our gold display.

"Can you be my sugar mommy for this meal?" I asked.

"Can't, my account is about as dry as the Aral sea." She replied.

"Looks like we are going to starve to till we see a Dark Souls window." I said casually.

I glanced around the room, searching for a solution, when my eyes landed on a group of men engrossed in a game of dice. The clatter of the dice, the exchange of coins, and the mix of cheers and groans painted the picture of opportunity. An idea sparked in my mind.

"Elara, I've got an idea," I said, gesturing towards the gamblers. "Give me the coins. I'm going to join that game."

Elara turned to look where I was pointing, then back at me, skepticism written all over her face. "Are you out of your fking mind? That's all we have. If you lose it, we're screwed."

I met her gaze with confidence I wasn't entirely sure I felt. "I won't lose. I have a good feel for these games. It's our best shot at doubling what we have, maybe even more."

She frowned, clearly weighing the risk. "Or you could lose everything, and then we're really up shit creek without a paddle. This isn't a time for taking wild chances."

I pressed on, "It's a calculated risk. We're already in a tight spot. This could turn our luck around. Trust me on this."

Elara sighed heavily, her eyes scanning the room before settling back on me. "This is a bad idea, Wang. But I can see you're not going to let it go. Just... be careful, alright? These guys aren't playing for fun. They'll chew you up and spit you out if they sense you're an easy mark."

Taking the pouch of coins from her, I felt the weight of our last financial lifeline in my hand. "I'll be careful. I'll get in, play a few rounds, and get out before they know what hit them."

Elara watched me intently, a mix of apprehension and reluctant trust in her eyes. "You better be right about this. I'm not looking forward to explaining how we went broke over a game of dice."

"Trust me on this." I said.

"Why the fk would I?" Elara raised a brow.

"Cause..." I paused for a moment for dramatic effect, then looked in her the eyes and said:

"I got math on my side."

Q: Have you played Dark Souls before?