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#Post#: 82--------------------------------------------------
The Rebuilding of the Docks
DIR By: High Captain Song
Date: July 2, 2023, 12:23 pm
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Setting:-The Crossroads -=Docks=- At the docks, where the Thassa
meets the land
I'm supervising the unloading of lumber. Which is by way of a
polite way of saying that I am standing there, looking equal
parts menacing and heroic, as my crew handle all that tedious
business with heavy lifting and carrying it out of the hold and
down to what remains of the docks. It is a poor sailor who sets
out without supplies of lumber for emergency ship repairs, even
if there is little one can do upon the Thassa but patch and
make-do until one can get to a city and a shipwright. However,
when we came into the docks to discovered them nearly burned to
the water line, it did not take much effort for me to be
convinced to sell what meager stock we had to the harbor master
to help them get at least two docks rebuilt. I also allowed some
of my crew to be taken for the purpose of hauling the logs back
from the forest edge to the nearby village, where already the
foresters, wood-cutters and carpenters are conscripting any
able-bodied man who can work in helping save the livelihood on
the village that depends on the traders that pass through this
place.
Excepting the Captains, of course. I don't mind playing the
hero, but even on land people only give requests to a Captain of
the Council with respect. And they certainly don't try to order
him. Besides, I think I can do more good here overseeing the
morale of the people. Captain I may be but I'm still a Skald at
heart, and the Skald's first duty is to spread joy and hope
where he can. And while that often means singing silly songs to
get the drink flowing at the end of a long day, it often times
means just being present and letting the peasants know someone
is here to help.
I'm standing there supervising when I am approached by one of
the foresters, a man named Martin. He's clearly of Northern
stock, being 6'4" and dark haired, with a longbow slung over his
shoulders and his garb the distinctive brown and green of his
caste. He is accompanied by the harbor master, who resembles an
aggravated jut in both temperament and facial features. I give
both men a nod as I address Martin.
"Any idea what started the fire?" I recalled the forester had
taken charge of answering that question. Partly to make sure it
wasn't an accident. Mostly to confirm it wasn't sabotage.
Martin nods, opening his leather-gloved fist to reveal three
broken arrows with purple fletching.
"I found these in a tur tree at the woods edge, over-looking the
docks. I do not recognize their maker, but the design is
consistent with that of the Panther Girls.
I raise an eyebrow at that. While Panther Girls are nominally
outlaws, it is rare for them to attack a settlement. Largely
because they are, like the beasts they are named for, lone
predators who hunt with stealth and speed. Only a very bold or
very foolish Panther would do something like this. Possibly one
who was both.
I nod as I look to the arrows and agree with the assessment. The
wood appears to be from the Northern forests. The purple
fletching is flashy, but might be acquired from a number of
birds, albeit few native to the North even in summer. It is the
arrowheads that concern me most. A skilled fletcher can tell
much about an arrow and the archer who used it. In this case,
however, my concern is that I recognize the make of the
arrowhead, being made not from the usual sharpened steel, but
from the rough-hewn iron of Kassau!
Thankfully, I am a Master at masking my emotions after years of
gambling with more than coin as part of an adventurous youth, so
my thoughts do not show on my face as I inspect the arrows. I
try and think back, however, on all the Panthers I sold
arrowheads to and what names I know if push comes to shove.
"You think this a calling-card, then? "
Martin shakes his head. "I don't know what to think of this
madness. I only know that these arrows are conspicuous in their
placement. An archer practicing their shooting would have
retrieved them, if only to scavenge the arrowheads." I nod at
that reasoning but the dockmaster, clearly irritated by this
discussion, interrupts.
"I don't care what these arrows show, unless it helps me find
who did this to my docks! Captain, I know you know something of
the Northern forests. Will you and your men hunt down these
Panther Girls and bring them to heel?"
I look to the dock master and shake my head vigorously. "Even if
I did not have important business to attend to, for which I have
already been delayed by staying to help get the dock rebuilt, I
could not. Even if this were the work of a band of Panther
Girls... which is not proven... only a fool would try hunting
them on their own territory, particularly with a large group of
men. I can vouch for my own safety in the Northern forests,
true, but most of my men are sailors of the southern seas. They
are hearty men, true, but all they know is the docks and the
grind of the Thassa."
Martin seems less than pleased by my answer, but he does nod in
silent agreement. However, because I would like to keep trading
here, I do raise my hand.
"However, if this is the start of some outlaw or Panther plot,
they are sure to attack again. I can't help you track your
arsonists, but I can keep an ear out and pass on what knowledge
I can. And if I do find the ones responsible for this first, I
will deal with them. But in my time and my choosing."
That seems to mollify the dock master, who wanders off to find
someone else to bother. Martin, for his part, hangs around a
moment, making sure no one else is around before he speaks.
"I recognize these arrowheads, Captain. I know you do too. For
you sold some like this to me once."
I shrug. "There are many I've sold these too, Martin. I'll be
making an accounting of this. Have no fear."
He nods before walking off as I turn back to watching my crew,
though my gaze does occasionally fall back to the nearby
forests, wondering if the sudden sensation of eyes upon me is
simple paranoia.... or a warning of things to come.
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