Crimson Sands--White Harbor (The Missing)
Posted: Mon Feb 25, 2013 12:36 am
Ascher dropped down from Stepper's saddle, his boots making a soft thud in the sand. The coastal grasses were thin here, and the beach was just beginning. The rhythmic crash of breakers on the distant sand bar were reassuring in the silence. Something wasn't right. Stepper tossed his head and pawed softly at the ground with one foot. The horse was uneasy, and so was his rider. Ascher listened hard to the breeze, but could hear nothing but the sea.
It was midday, and the pirates that used this hidden cove as a port of call would be taking their rest, trying to sleep off the effect of a night filled with rum, smoke, and women before embarking on another night of rum, smoke, and women. It could be a hard life, that of a pirate.....or so he'd been told.
Ascher strained his ears, but there wasn't a sound. No dogs barking over a scrap from the feasting...no cats mewing.....not even the hum of the ever-present host of flies that always seemed to accompany pirates. There was nothing moving among the tents at all.
Ascher adjusted the strap of his shield, and drew his blade. He looped Stepper's reins loosely around one of the lines staking down a tent, and he entered the pirate camp. All of the chests had been smashed. There were torn bits of clothing here and there, a few dark stains in the sand, but nothing else. A single gold coin glinted by the dead embers of a fire, and it caught Ascher's eye.
He bent and fetched the coin, sticking it in a small belt pouch for later examination. As he scanned the camp, ever single tent was in the same condition; ripped, ransacked, and destroyed. At the far end of the encampment, a dozen feet above the high tide mark, was a single table untouched by the destruction around it.
On top of the table, gleaming white in the midday sun, was a human skull.
Ascher froze, his blood running cold. He looked back at the smoldering remains of the bonfire in the center of the camp, and tried not to ponder too much what the fuel had been. He went to the table, and stood staring down at the skull.
Beneath it was a folded parchment, fluttering lightly in the wind. Ascher could make out lines and numbers, and what looked like a coastline, but the symbols were foreign to him, and beyond his understanding. Still, it could mean something.
Ascher had come looking for answers, but instead he found more questions. Where was Xander? The man had gone missing after a visit to White Harbor, and his brother had comissioned the Guard to aid in the search. Ascher knew the pirates would have been aware of any mischief going on in the area, so he'd come to ask questions and see what they knew... He'd even brought along some fine aged rums to loosen their tongues.
After all, he could be very persuasive, when need be.
Instead, he'd found an encampment destroyed, the pirates gone, and a sun-bleached human skull on top of some kind of map. Was it a warning, or an invitation? Could it be both?
Was this somehow connected to disappearance of Xander?
Ascher sheathed his Kryss, and opened a small bag. He carefully picked up the skull, and deposited it, along with the parchment, and quickly tied the strings. He tried to touch the bag as little as possible, wrapping layers of cut bandages around it in his pack. Hopefully someone with more skill in forensic evaluations would be able to shed some light on what had happened to that skull, and a cartographer should be able to decipher the chart easily enough.
Ascher took one last look around the camp. Another tribe of pirates would come along eventually. A sheltered cove this far from any guards wouldn't go unclaimed for long, that much was sure. And, with a little fine rum, some roasted lamb and chicken, and a good story, Ascher would be able to ply them for information when neccessary. These pirates were killers and thieves, some of the worst on the oceans. But even they had deserved better than whatever had befallen them.
Ascher thought of the skull in his pack, and shuddered. He said a silent prayer to the Fates for Xander's safety. Whether the pirates had been slaughtered to extract information from them, or to keep them from divulging information to anyone else, it proved that Ascher was on the right path.
Where that path might lead, only the Fates new....
It was midday, and the pirates that used this hidden cove as a port of call would be taking their rest, trying to sleep off the effect of a night filled with rum, smoke, and women before embarking on another night of rum, smoke, and women. It could be a hard life, that of a pirate.....or so he'd been told.
Ascher strained his ears, but there wasn't a sound. No dogs barking over a scrap from the feasting...no cats mewing.....not even the hum of the ever-present host of flies that always seemed to accompany pirates. There was nothing moving among the tents at all.
Ascher adjusted the strap of his shield, and drew his blade. He looped Stepper's reins loosely around one of the lines staking down a tent, and he entered the pirate camp. All of the chests had been smashed. There were torn bits of clothing here and there, a few dark stains in the sand, but nothing else. A single gold coin glinted by the dead embers of a fire, and it caught Ascher's eye.
He bent and fetched the coin, sticking it in a small belt pouch for later examination. As he scanned the camp, ever single tent was in the same condition; ripped, ransacked, and destroyed. At the far end of the encampment, a dozen feet above the high tide mark, was a single table untouched by the destruction around it.
On top of the table, gleaming white in the midday sun, was a human skull.
Ascher froze, his blood running cold. He looked back at the smoldering remains of the bonfire in the center of the camp, and tried not to ponder too much what the fuel had been. He went to the table, and stood staring down at the skull.
Beneath it was a folded parchment, fluttering lightly in the wind. Ascher could make out lines and numbers, and what looked like a coastline, but the symbols were foreign to him, and beyond his understanding. Still, it could mean something.
Ascher had come looking for answers, but instead he found more questions. Where was Xander? The man had gone missing after a visit to White Harbor, and his brother had comissioned the Guard to aid in the search. Ascher knew the pirates would have been aware of any mischief going on in the area, so he'd come to ask questions and see what they knew... He'd even brought along some fine aged rums to loosen their tongues.
After all, he could be very persuasive, when need be.
Instead, he'd found an encampment destroyed, the pirates gone, and a sun-bleached human skull on top of some kind of map. Was it a warning, or an invitation? Could it be both?
Was this somehow connected to disappearance of Xander?
Ascher sheathed his Kryss, and opened a small bag. He carefully picked up the skull, and deposited it, along with the parchment, and quickly tied the strings. He tried to touch the bag as little as possible, wrapping layers of cut bandages around it in his pack. Hopefully someone with more skill in forensic evaluations would be able to shed some light on what had happened to that skull, and a cartographer should be able to decipher the chart easily enough.
Ascher took one last look around the camp. Another tribe of pirates would come along eventually. A sheltered cove this far from any guards wouldn't go unclaimed for long, that much was sure. And, with a little fine rum, some roasted lamb and chicken, and a good story, Ascher would be able to ply them for information when neccessary. These pirates were killers and thieves, some of the worst on the oceans. But even they had deserved better than whatever had befallen them.
Ascher thought of the skull in his pack, and shuddered. He said a silent prayer to the Fates for Xander's safety. Whether the pirates had been slaughtered to extract information from them, or to keep them from divulging information to anyone else, it proved that Ascher was on the right path.
Where that path might lead, only the Fates new....