Chapter One: A Warm Welcome
“FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!”
Pari Danger’s voice split the dawn like an axe through a deckhand’s skull. The cry sent a flock of gulls wheeling in the sky, their shrieks drowned beneath the groaning timbers of the Crimson Opportunist as the ship crested a wave. The morning sun—rising from the west, as all proper suns did in this cursed slice of the Runiverse—glinted off the smoke curling from the little village nestled on the rocky shore ahead.
The rest of the crew stumbled onto deck, still shaking off last night’s debauchery. Some wiped the drool from their beards; others wiped the blood from their knives. Captain Warrior #11988, clad in his usual mix of finery and filth, squinted at the scene through his brass spyglass.
“Well,” he grunted, “that looks like opportunity.”
Pari grinned and dropped from the ropes, landing lightly on the deck beside him. “Smells like opportunity, too.” She inhaled deeply. “Burnt fish, wood, a hint of singed despair.”
“Load the rowboat,” Arkol ordered. “If someone else is doin’ the pillagin’ for us, it’d be rude not to say thank you.”
By the time they reached shore, the village was little more than a charred skeleton. Flames still licked at rooftops, and what few townsfolk remained ran screaming past, too busy panicking to notice a fresh wave of pirates washing up on their docks.
Pari hopped out first, her boots squelching into what used to be a fishmonger’s stall. “Waste of good seafood,” she muttered, kicking over a half-cooked cod. She turned to the others. “Well, gentlemen, shall we start our ethical looting?”
Ethical, in this case, meaning ‘before the bodies are completely cold.’
As they spread out, something in the water caught Pari’s eye. At first, she thought it was just driftwood bobbing among the wreckage. Then the driftwood blinked. A pair of slitted green eyes glared up at her from the shallows, framed by slick, iridescent scales and a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth.
“Oh, ho!” Pari grinned. “We’ve got ourselves some company!”
A deep, guttural trill rumbled from the water, and more heads surfaced—merfolk, at least a dozen of them, their expressions a mix of anger and self-righteous fury.
“You!” one of them snarled. “Land-scum! You defend the murderers?”
Pari turned to look at what was left of the town, then back at the dripping, furious sea creatures. “Well,” she said, “I wouldn’t say we’re here to defend them.” She crossed her arms. “But if you’re handing out the blame, we’d like to see if there’s any left over.”
One of the merfolk, clad in kelp and righteous indignation, pointed a webbed finger at the ruins. “These landwalkers slaughtered our kelpie spawn! We avenged them with fire and tide! Their suffering is justice!”
Pari tapped her chin. “I don’t know about that. Justice usually takes longer and involves more paperwork. This seems more like revenge.”
The merfolk bared their teeth. “Call it what you will. None who stand with these butchers shall be spared.”
Pari considered this, then looked back at her crew. Arkol was already rummaging through a burned-out tavern, and the rest of the pirates were divvying up anything not nailed down. One had already found a slightly singed barrel of rum and was doing his best to rescue its contents.
She turned back to the merfolk. “So what I’m hearing is… there’s no one left to punish?”
The leader of the merfolk hissed, eyes darting toward the few remaining villagers sprinting for the hills. “Some escaped.”
Pari clapped her hands together. “Then we’re all in luck! You get to continue your noble quest for vengeance, and we get to rifle through the remains in peace! No need for a fight at all.”
The merfolk stared at her, then at the wreckage. Then at the pirates. Then at the wreckage again. They did not seem convinced.
Pari sighed. “Alright, look. If it’ll make you feel better, we’ll leave behind a very sternly worded note condemning their actions.”
A long silence.
Then the leader of the merfolk gave a slow, reluctant nod. “That… may suffice.”
@meepledad stories
Pari grinned. “Great! Now, if you’ll excuse us, there’s a still-smoking inn over there, and I have a feeling its liquor supply is just the right temperature.”
And with that, the Crimson Opportunist’s finest looters got back to doing what they did best—capitalizing on someone else’s misfortune.
Entered by: 0x2c93…020f
